The Alternate Test Subjects
by hatchlingpendragon
Summary: It's not that She was desperate. Desperation came from poor progress, and poor progress came from Bad Science. No, She was not desperate. She was just taking advantage of Her resources. The key to a good test was variety, of which lunatics, while dangerous, provided the best of. Unfortunately She lost track of Her lunatic. Ah, well, at least She now had these brand-new ones.
1. Welcome

_"Hello and, again, welcome to the Aperture Science computer-initiate-ate-ate-ated enrichment center._  
_We hope your brief detention in the relaxation vault has been a pleasant o-o-one-one-one-one. . ._  
_  
Reprocessing, please stand by._  
_  
Hello [insert subject name here], and welcome to the Aperture Science Alternate Test Subject Study and Research Initiative.  
We apologize for any inconvenience that was not stated in the brochure and contract you received before initiation._  
_If you have not received the brochure and copy of said contract, we apologize for that as well, for you must have been forgetful about it in the joy of your discovered promotion to be an Aperture Science Alternate Test Subject._  
_  
Before we start, keep in mind that although fun and learning are the primary goals of all Enrichment Center activities, serious injuries may occur, and given the nature of your previous employment, we at Aperture Science have made sure that you would be familiar with and aware of said serious injuries. Some of these serious injuries include bullets, fire, stupidity, sharp blades, and death._

We would like to remind you that while the Regeneration-Respawn clause has been included in your renewed contract, death is not considered progress, and will result in a test reset, a loss of Science points, and an increased percentage of the possibility of serious injuries.

Further information and rules will be provided upon-on-on the completion of a preliminary round of your tests.

We are now ready to begin the test proper. Good luck."

Scout blinked as the voice went away, and looked around at the almost stupidly clean white walls, and this even more stupid orange pajama thing that he had no idea how he got on, and frowned at the door that had hissed open in front of him.

"A'right, what th' heck is up wit' this crap?"


	2. Motivation

_"Reminder to [insert test subject name here]: Aperture Science would like to remind you that in order to complete the test and therefore make progress in the name of Science, the test subject would have to use their legs and move around to carry out the test's objectives._

_We are not registering anything defunct or broken in the test subject's legs, but if any phenomena does indeed hinder your capacity to test, please visit the medical ward using the exits to your—**staaatic**—and initial your name under the obituary you approve.  
It will be listed to file in the Aperture Science Public Relations Department mailing list._

_Again, please remember to use your legs to achieve the mobility required in order to complete the test."_

"The hell I am, Administrator wannabe." Scout sneered, sitting cross-legged on one of the cubes that had been dumped from the ceiling.

"I don't remember havin' t' do these stupid tests, especially in _these_."

He gestured with disgust to his footwear, "How the heck can ya expect a guy to run in these freaky Techno-Barbie heels, huh?!  
I can barely freakin' _walk_ in them!"

He scowled as his only answer was the hum of machinery. "I know you can hear me, lady! Gimme a bat and I'll show ya how t' solve these dumbass tests of yours! Yeah, 'course ya won't, 'cause they don't 'fit the Aperture Science standards'!"

He might not have been so angry about the boot deal in the first place if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't take the stupid things off.  
It's like they would squeeze around his calf muscles when he did.

"And when's there gonna be some food around here?!" he continued.  
"Gonna starve me, or what?!"

Again, silence, and he tapped the weird springy-heels against the cube. He wasn't sure how he got here, and he didn't like that.  
One minute, he was shot down in a mission and ready to go to Respawn, the next, he woke up in some freakish nightmare eggshell rat race with only an annoying Announcer for company. He didn't recognize the voice, but he did remember her babbling about him being 'promoted', and thought that over.

Would the rest of his team be around here too, wearing these stupid boots and doing those stupid tests?

He choked on laughter as he thought of the rest of them wearing these things, especially Heavy...!

_"The only way for the test subject to proceed from the Aperture Science testing chamber is to complete its objectives. Seeing as the test subject is, for reasons incomprehensible and misplaced, refusing to proceed with the test, the facility will be initiating its Alternate Motivation Protocol in thirty seconds. Further information and rules will be stated further into the test, and repeated for those test subjects with lower cognitive ability."_

"What?"

'Alternate Motivation'?

"I'm not leaving!"

_"Twenty seconds."_

"What's that mean? What does 'Alternate Motivation' mean?! Hey!"

_"Ten seconds."_

The walls began to rumble, and he jumped up, feeling like he was walking on tiptoe, and swore as he tripped.

The voice paused.

_"Four seconds._

_Three._

_Two._

_One."_

He backed against the wall, and yelled when it pushed back, stumbling backwards. His eyes widened.

The _whole freaking room was shrinking!_

"No, no, no, wait, hey!" the door he'd come in through got closed behind a wall, and he was herded towards the open one, the heels of the boots scraping metallically as he tried not to get tripped up by the cube that was being pushed along with him, "Give me a break!"

With a flip and a shove, a piece of the wall hurled him into the room, and the cube nearly smashed his hand as the door slid shut behind him. He lay there for a moment in confused pain, before that stupid voice came up again.

_"Oh. It seems you have lost some Science points, as well as whatever dignity you had. If you had any. But that's okay, for there's always opportunity for growth and improvement here in Aperture Science. Even for the...**slow** learners. Continue testing."_

The lady's voice sounded a lot less automatic this time.

The voice faded back into the hum of the machine, and Scout groaned, wondering when the heck the real Administrator would come on over the speaker and tell them this was another one of her sick games. He was about to stay and give a piece of his mind again when he heard something that sounded like a weird _florp._ He looked around the room, and, after deciding doing something would be better than being _made_ to do something, went to look for it.

When he found it, he probably saw the freakiest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

* * *

_"Congratulations on currently being the furthest advanced test subject of your peer group._  
_This is a **small** accomplishment, you understand._ _And while congratulations are indeed in order, Aperture Science would also like to remind you to be more considerate of the facility, and stop destroying the cameras."_

The test subject said nothing. Well, nothing comprehensible.

_". . . Alright, I'll say this, but only because you **almost** remind Me of **another** ugly, non-communicative, destructive lunatic._  
_I let you keep that mask, didn't I? Though, if I'm 46% honest, I do believe it's a generous, self-sacrificing favor to all sentient beings in general that you keep it on. And when I say self-sacrificing, I don't really think you sacrificed too much._  
_So, you still have your mask, I still have My tests, and we still have an understanding._  
_So, please, stop breaking all of those cameras. A single one is worth more than all of your smoke-stained organs."_

The test subject did not seem fazed about this, and looked like they were trying to break the camera's casing open.  
It twitched, showering sparks.

_"I'm completely serious. Even if your organs were clean they wouldn't be worth one-half percent of any Aperture Science product in existence, and that includes the shower curtains._  
_  
. . . Okay, I'm not sure what you think you're doing, but I don't think it's going to do whatever it is you're trying to get it to do, and it is certainly not part of the test that you **should** be doing._  
_  
. . . On a related note, the Aperture Science Alternate Test chambers are outfitted with fire-suppression systems, which also need to be tested. This may require randomly setting the room on fire.  
On purpose, of course, for maintenance.  
By someone who isn't you.  
You like fire, don't you?  
How much **do** you like fire, without your **flattering** suit?"_

The test subject performed a gesture to the camera that was still functioning, and stomped off, continuing the test.

_"I thought that's what you'd say. Continue testing."_


	3. Meet the Employee

Engineer was not a man who was easily fazed. Years, more than he could count, were spent building, moving, upgrading, and repairing machines on an explosion-filled battlefield, making sure that the right ones ran in the right place for the right reasons, and that he would shoot before he got shot in the process.  
His work required steady hands, a clear mind, and a good eye out for Spies.

So, when he got up that morning and didn't find himself in Dustbowl, he didn't immediately question how he got there: that'd be an answer he was sure he'd get later. He assessed where he was, and what he had.  
The one thing he still had that he knew was his were his goggles. Other than that, he was barefoot, wearing some sort of orange outfit that fit disturbingly well. Orange pants, pale blue shirt, orange jacket.

He checked his hand, and that's where he started to get a little fazed. He still had it, of course, but where the device was soldered to the original human arm the scarring itched, and the wiring felt sluggish to respond.  
He clenched his jaw: some stupid had tried to mess with his hand.

At least they hadn't taken it, whoever they were, or there'd be some real trouble for the _both_ of them.  
He was in some sort of little motel room, it looked like. The window only faced some other building, from what he could tell. There was a small closet (empty) and a bathroom, and the door that he presumed led to the hall of the building was locked. He wouldn't try to force it just yet.

All in all, the room was normal, simple, and completely unremarkable.

He took off the jacket, and checked the logo over where the heart would be. He sat on the bed, frowning at the circle that looked like a camera-shutter, a bit of which led into the word 'Aperture'. He racked his brains, and thought it looked familiar.

"_Hello, Mr. Conagher, and welcome to the Aperture Science Relaxation Vault. We hope that your brief detention was a restful one, and congratulate you on your recent and highly valuable promotion._"

He frowned, looking around for the source of the voice, "Beg pardon?"

"_Please proceed outside of your Aperture Science Relaxation Vault, and an Aperture Science Employee Escort will escort you to your next destination. We look forward to working with you._"

His head snapped forward as the door opened with a _-click-_, revealing a dimly lit hall and..._something_...  
He stepped out cautiously into the hall, and blinked at his 'escort'.

"Well, would ya look at that."

The, he'd guess he'd call it a robot, but none like he'd ever seen, beeped at him, shifting on its legs, and he admired that it seemed to show nervousness. It was about as tall as he was, with a round body, a blue 'eye', strangely jointed arms, and the smoothest motion system he'd ever seen. Didn't shake, didn't spark, looked a clean and nice piece of work, and _expressive._

It seemed uncomfortable when he stared for a while. It glanced side to side, and then gestured towards the hall, and walked down the hallway before looking back at him, beckoning as it garbled something out.

Man, the suspension must've been something else if it could walk like that.

He followed it, making a note to observe what motors and wires he could see in the thing.  
This was definitely not Gray Gravel Co. class.

They went through hallway after hallway, the cheap carpet making the soles of his feet itch, until they went through a door onto various catwalks, the robot's feet clacking against the metal as his got chilled.  
He looked around, eyes widening behind his goggles as he looked at this giant _machine_.  
Pipes hissed and thumped overhead, gigantic gears and cogs turned so far below, pistons bigger around than _Heavy_ hissed and whirred, and through distant clear tubes he could make out things tumbling through, cubes and cylinders being whisked around to who knows where.  
The air was dry and cool and tasted like that familiar taint of metal and sodium chloride.

The entire expanse of _machine_ was relatively clean, smooth, and quiet for a bunch of moving metal parts and steam and electricity and mechanics. Here and there what looked like smooth white walls moved around like patches against the machinery, and he blinked as he realized these walls were simply another extension of the machine, moving and turning on some sort of complex piston system he couldn't quite make out. A few of these formed a floor for him and the robot when they encountered a collapse in the catwalk, and while they seemed to move fluidly enough, they felt disturbingly solid and stable when he walked over them.  
From what he could see, they were squares of 3x3 dimensions that could be converted into walls or a floor, coated in some sort of chalky white substance that scraped against his feet like slightly rough cement.

He looked back, and saw they had left from large things that looked like stacked shipment containers suspended in midair among this giant machine, and blinked as he saw ones being moved by more little machines, ones about the size of the room he'd been in if he was one to judge distance. He'd been kept in one of those?

"This sure ain't Kansas, now is it, fella?" he chuckled, a bit overwhelmed despite of himself, but his companion didn't seem to comment, following directions to who-knows-where they were going.

_"Indeed, Mr. Conagher,"_ the voice said again, now more direct than surrounding, as the catwalk led them into an enormous rough sphere formed by the moving squares. _"This is Aperture."_


	4. Heart to Hard Drive

The man darted quickly around the corner, avoiding the spray of bullets. He waited patiently, listening to that little mechanical whirring those things gave out, watching its sighting laser.

"Are you still there?"

He dashed across the hallway again, firing an orange hole behind the thing before it could shoot him, and rolled into the next, carefully placing a blue. Yep, now he was right behind the thing. He stepped through, feeling that disturbing, full-body _slip_, and kicked the thing over, feeling bad in spite of himself. What kinda sick person makes these sentry-things sound like creepy kids?

_"Whyyy?"_

"Jus' hold still, ya li'l peashooter." the Sniper grumbled, wedging his funny tech-boot between the body and the gun before it could slide back in, and gritted his teeth as he felt the pressure on his foot.

"I don't hate you."

"Really. Do you actually talk, or are ya programmed t' just say that?" he asked, looking at the connections.

_"The turrets do feel pain and humiliation, in their quaint little ways, and that one that you're violating is being incredibly generous when it says it doesn't hate you."_ that 'Announcer' lady said, and he scowled.

_"Because it does hate you."_ she continued,_ "It hates to be so **violated** by an unhygienic crazed gunman who doesn't understand the use of proper washroom facilities. Why are you violating it?"_

"Jus' tryin' t' get myself a proper firearm, Your Majesty." he snarled.

_"Crazed gunmen do not **need** guns. Only the turrets do, because they are not crazed gunmen. All that you need is that nice, Aperture-approved handheld portal device. You crazed gunman."_

_"I am NOT a—!"_ he stopped himself, shaking his head, "You _real_ly like to push a man's buttons, don't ya?"

He grinned, baring his teeth at one of the cameras as it whirred to face him, unable to get anything off the turret this time, "I'm an _assassin,_ ya freaky sadist. And I look forward to teachin' ya the difference."

_"Oh..."_ she laughed,_ "If it weren't for the fact that you clearly suffer from a mental illness, I might have felt threatened by that. You're more amusing than threatening, Mr. James Mundy. Amusing to Me, anyway. You are threatening to the turrets, however, in ways you shouldn't be. So stop being threatening to the turrets, or I will increase the test's difficulty levels. And I've been making it so **easy** for you this far, too."_

"A little _too _easy, if ya ask me." he replied, smirking while he was putting a giant heavy crate-thing on the button.  
"Nothing good to hunt around here, nothing challenging, same ol' same ol', and these mealy whitewash walls are makin' my eyes bleach from lookin' at 'em, it's so boring. Give a bloke a _challenge,_ lady, or is this all you got?"

_"Brain damage is so extensive, isn't it? Like a greasy little tumor in that inefficient lump of gray fat. In fact, analysis shows that your mental illness, manifested as a tumor, takes up more mass and neurons __in your cranial cavity __than the **original** inefficient lump of gray fat. I would take care of it for you, but then that would mean that you'd have to—" _

"Shut up." the marksman growled, walking into the elevator, and letting it bring him along to the next floor.

The elevators weren't proper, he noted.

The direction was never predictable.

It would go sideways, or horizontal, in any direction of some three-dimensional compass, but almost never _down_.

It really threw him off.

It nearly threw him literally when it ground to a halt, making him stumble on his foppish metal boots.

_"**You **listen to **Me**, you insufferable **ape**."_ the voice said quietly, _"You. Work. For. **Me**."_

The elevator shuddered and continued on, a bit more smoothly, _"And the Aperture Science Employee clauses stated in the contract that you wilfully received and signed clearly state that you, as an Aperture Science Employee, must cooperate and defer to the policies listed in_ _the—"_

"There _was_ no bloody contract," he snapped, one hand prepared to steady himself.

"No brochure, not even a notice. I'm a mercenary, one who knows who's calling the target and paying the bills, and it's not you. Check your bleeding documents at the desk, missy, 'cause my writing's not in them."

_"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Mundy."  
_  
The elevator smoothly changed directions.

_"Everything of you is in My files. Down to how you died at your last Respawn before your promotion. Want Me to tell it to you?"_

He looked warily around the small enclosure, at the padded walls and cold steel rails.

_"It was by a baseball bat from your rival company's Scout. One blow to the back of the skull, preceded by two blows to the kneecaps and one to the hands to disarm you, shattering all middle and proximal phalanges and most of the metacarpals. It would have been such a drawback to your career, had you not been under the Respawn clause. So unprofessional, to be beaten by a loud, blundering **Scout **from behind. Then again, brain tumors could excuse a lack of professionalism."_

He grit his teeth, but she spoke up again, _"Everything of you is in My facility. I know **everything **about you, Mr. Mundy. Regardless of whether you acknowledge your **willing **and **non-negotiable **promotion, I am your employer. And as your employer, I expect you to continue testing **WITH A PROPER INDICATION OF RESPECT.**"_

The elevator shook with the sheer power put behind her voice, and he leaned into the wall, waiting until the vibrations faded.  
He let the silence continue for a few more minutes before he spoke up again, "Know everything about me, eh?"

_"I will reiterate Myself for the sake of slow learners: yes."_

He grinned, and settled back, cradling the funny gun in the crook of his arm.

"I think I know you too. Or knew you. Anything in your files got somethin' t' say about that?"

The elevator stuttered, almost imperceptibly, and his grin widened.

_"No. Because such an event is impossible on any scale of probability. Any interaction between us prior to this arrangement would have been imaginary, fabricated, insignificant, **unfortunate**. Continue testing."_

"Because if I must say, that voice of yours sounds _real _familiar when I think about it." he continued, striding out into the mealy white chamber, eyeing the tubes, the enemies, the lay of the land, "I've had a long career, Miss, and that career's gotten me to many interesting places. One of them had been in Missouri, United States, at a meeting between a couple of high-powered companies, but the funny rub was _no one knew why they were so powerful_."

He strode towards a cube dispenser, pleased that she hadn't interrupted him yet.

"Anyway, regardless of background, _someone_ in one of those companies wanted an employee of the _other_ dead. The target was some sort of accountant, probably a two-timer who stuck his thumb into too many pies. So, went in, got the job done, went to collect the reward from the bloke, and had a _very _interesting chat with his assistant."

He sighed, "The pay was a load of crap, all things considered. But it seemed like the place was on its last legs, anyway. The fellow was rambling about lemons, coughing, hacking, and somethin' about more percentage of bullet per bullet. I mean, it's a _bullet_, how much more of it are ya gonna expect? Was the customer dissatisfied with how much bullet they got?"

_"Stop talking. You're talking about your employer, and not with the required standard of respect."_

She sounded nervous. Good.

"Psh, I'm talking _to _my employer right now," he said, wrassling the cube around the chamber, "And I must say, the management of this place has really gone down." He laughed, "When do the _assisstants_ get assigned the grunt work, hm?"

_"I **SAID**," _the voice boomed, and the chamber boomed with her, the floors, walls, and ceiling shook and started to move in.

He dropped the cube.

_"DON'T."_

They closed in, the room steadily shrinking to twice his size, twitching at the edges.

_"YOU."_

Once his size.

_"_**_TALK TO ME THAT WAAAAY..._**_"_

He crouched, curling in until there was no more room to curl.

The walls continued anyway, unimpeded, with a final visceral _crunch_.

. . .

The panels slowly pulled away, noticeably stickier.

They quietly replaced themselves with clean ones, and the chamber resumed its normal position.

A few more minutes passed, quietly.

He came back into existence with what could only be described as a _pop_, gun and all, and looked around approvingly.

"Ya clean up well, I'll give you that."

_"You've lost Science points, as well as a percentage of your existing brain cells. Though it's not as if you had any to begin with. Continue testing."_

"Do as you please," he hummed idly, feeling quite giddy despite having just been effectively crushed with the Aperture equivalent of a train, "But we're gonna have to talk about this at some point.  
Maybe over a pint.  
Maybe two.  
You'll be paying though, seeing as it seems you have my _assets._"

_"**Continue. Testing.**"_

He smiled so the cameras couldn't see, and continued testing, humming what sounded like an opera.


	5. Good Shot

The test chamber was remarkably silent. Well, almost. Things sparked here and there, and its occupant was...well, She wasn't quite sure what he was doing.

_". . . Aperture Science would like to inquire as to why the test subject is_—_oh, for Science's sake, __**what**__ are you_ _doing?"_

"Uh-h, BEEP, BOOP. Target lost. Searching. BEEP. Can I help you?"

_"I must inform you, test subject, that that is __**not **__the proper way to handle a turret's remains. In fact, that is embarrassing and disrespectful to the turret you killed. Why are you handling it that way?"_

"BEEP. BEEP, BOP. Nope, no test subject here, fellow robot. BEEP. He left. BEEP. Or I shot him. Whichever's better. BEEP. BEEP."

He was standing against the wall, somehow having managed to get a turret's ripped-off faceplate casing and optic for a helmet, and was holding its guns at his sides, for some reason turning side to side. She should honestly be trying to get him to solve the test, but this variable was strangely fascinating to Her. Not even _she _had managed to cause _that _kind of destruction to a turret, and _her _logic never led to _this.  
_Goodness, She may have found a hybrid strain of Moron and Lunatic. That would make two new Moron strains discovered since the beginning of this testing cycle and an entirely new variant of Lunacy._  
_

"BEEP, BEEP. Nothing to see here, go about your robot business. BOOP."

She let a synthesized sigh emit through the chamber's vocal system, _"Test subject Jane Doe aka Soldier, please don't imagine that My superior processors allow acceptance for any lunatic flaws in reasoning your organic brain may have. Drop the turret remains and continue testing, or I'll do unto you, as you did unto it."_

The Soldier growled, tossing the guns away and picking up the portal device, the 'turret helmet' spinning around loosely on his skull over his crew cut as he stomped on. "This is un-American, robo-woman!" he protested, scowling at the ceiling, "All 'test, test, test' with no objective or strategy far's I can see! These weak sentry robots can barely aim, and are _sissy__! _What kind of opponent is that?!"

_"One that opposes you regardless of your opinions. I'll be sure to paint a target on you for a more satisfactory experience."_

"And these _clothes!_" he went on, picking critically at the cloth, "If I'm in a standard _military _situation I expect to have standard _military equipment! _Look, anything can go right through this!"

He poked a finger through a bullet hole in the fabric, sneering, "This place is too _pansy!"_

_"Oh, do go on,"_ She drawled, _"What is it lacking? I'll be sure to include it ten-fold in the next chamber."_

"Everything!" he shouted, waving the portal device around, and if She was capable of fearing this sad little ape and in fact emulating any human _organic_ responses, She might have flinched.

"Armor!" he listed, marching absently to the elevator door, "Guns!" he paused, thinking, "Moving sentry robots that aim properly!  
They have legs they don't use!"

She paused, this had suddenly become more interesting by maybe 22.8 percent, She listened in.

_"I actually have someone working on the turret problem," _She informed him, _"A colleague of yours who is much brighter than you.  
But really, **do** go on."_

"And explosions!" he rambled, "Maybe have some random sentry robots that explode! And the crates, the crates could maybe have something, like rewards, and don't talk to me about cake again, robo-woman. Pie, _pie _is a man's reward. Or steak. But have _something_, a soldier can't always run on guts alone! And...and..."

He glared at the gun, "And _proper ammo_, not some sort of science-y space-hole stuff, I mean, look—" he shot it at the wall, and a blue ring of light glowed faintly on the white surface, and he sneered, "Boom. That's it. Pretty light show and a fancy-shmancy _space_ _mirror._"

He tilted his head, eyeing the glowing oval, tapping absently at the solid static surface.

He stood back a bit, "Wonder what it'll show me if I shoot it _twice_."

She immediately knew that this was suddenly going to go Very, Very WRONG.

_"NO! Don't do that, no-no-no-no-no, **don't** do that, **don't**—**the portal boundaries WEREN'T DESIGNED TO MAINTAIN AN EVENT HORIZON INTERSE**—"_

_Florp_.

* * *

Cave Johnson, here, for the Aperture Science's Testing Initiative's first official FASQ, or Frequently Asked Stupid Questions.

What?

[REDACTED] you I can't say that, it's what you _told _me they were!

Oh, yeah? Take it up with the P.R. stooges! If you don't like it, just [REDACTED] redact it.

On second thought, don't redact it, otherwise no one will get _anything _out of this.

Alright, moving on.

Question: What the hell are black holes?

Answer: Black holes, for those of us who don't have a whole boatload of Science in our noggins, are bits of the most dense and compact matter known to the universe. Like a few managers' brains on the Aperture Board of [REDACTED].

Look, if you didn't want me to _say _that stuff you should've volunteered to answer the FASQ _yourse—_

_That was __not an invitation__, friend!_

Oh, yeah?

OH, YEAH?!

I am your _CEO, pal_, and this is _my _Announcement system.  
Will somebody get this [REDACTED] [REDACTED] _out_ of my off—

_-please stand by-_

Alright, now that the air's a bit less _stuffy_ in here, let's get down to the brass tacks, or whatever tacks are made of nowadays.

Black holes: dense, compact, scary pieces of matter that are a Scientific Hell to work with. But not for Aperture Science.  
You see, the creation and containment of a black hole required a process that is too long and complicated to explain in this session, and frankly I'd get too bored and not care enough to tell it to you, but we _did it_.

Long story short, the creation and containment of a black hole involved the breaking, rewriting, and finding every [REDACTED] loophole our boys in the lab could poke out in the laws of physics and nature.

This got us to create and hire our own branch of Aperture Science Physics Lawyers.

Then those guys needed some Aperture Science Physics Psychotherapists. So we created and hired those, too.

Heh, heh, heh, poor bastards.

So, out of all that, we created the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device, known to the layman as the Portal Gun, just for all those lucky little test subjects out there.

Fun device, right?

Portal here, portal there, bam! Instant Science.

Question: How are the black holes generating the portals from the Portal Gun?

Answer: I don't have the slightest idea, but I heard that they spit self-contained whirlpools of event horizon, however the hell that works.

Hmm, let's see, ah, right.

Question: Portals connect different spaces together, but what happens if you put portals together?

Answer: I don't know, and it's a stupid thing to ask or answer, but the lab boys tell me that, theoretically, since black holes are scary pieces of Science Hell, they have a lot more gravity and condensed mass than the surrounding space. Pieces of event horizon intersecting apparently cause a secondary mirror black hole that feeds off itself. Think of a tiny starving black marble that tries to eat everything and succeeds. However, since it feeds off of itself, I'm told that the window of this thing actually existing will only last for a few seconds, in which case it'll only eat everything within a certain proximity. A sort of natural emergency failsafe. Unfortunately, we don't know that proximity, but definitely that you'd be in it, so that means we'd lose that Portal Gun and probably most of the facility. So while I support the thrill of exploring Unknown Science and finding out what the hell that button does, I'm thinking that this is something best left alone until we find a more cost efficient replacement for the Portal Gun and a decent lot of land somewhere out in [REDACTED] Nevada.

Working on that.

So for now, don't do it.

Don't do it, or I'm taking the damages out of your paycheck.

. . .

Yeah, you're right, scratch that, I'll take the damages out of the paychecks of your next of kin.

So remember, Aperture Science is fun, but expensive, so only _ask_ the FASQ, and don't be the _cause_ of the FASQ!

We have another Aperture Initiative to take care of that for you.

Now get out there and do some Science!

This is Cave Johnson, we're done here.

* * *

Slowly, almost as if they were in shock, panels jerkily and hesitantly put themselves where a floor had once been, and waited, as the facility analyzed, recorded, and computed the damage, automatically beginning repair at the nanoscopic level.

_"Oh. Dear. God."_

A perfect sphere of roughly 1.56 cubic kilometers of facility was gone, leaving only empty space, a perfect sphere of nothing, within the time period of 1.87 seconds.  
Of course, since Her processors functioned faster than a regular human brain, it felt like the event had been much longer.  
It had been a metallic screech and the boom and thud of displaced air. Machinery was perfectly cut out within this radius, the remains suddenly acknowledged that they were missing some parts and beginning to twitch accordingly.

There were gentle, fizzing, popping sounds as the air in the empty space re-oxygenated causing the twitching parts to spark. These twitching parts removed themselves for repair, as She began to understand what just happened, taking about 1.3 nanoseconds longer than usual.

First it was the simulated fear, then the shock, and then pure anger and nostalgic _hatred_ that made the panels tremble in their places.

_They were supposed to be **better** than **her**._

That hadn't even been intentional! That had been a stupid monkey's mistake! **_She _**_would never have done something so_ **stupid**. Probably as destructive, yes, but never in the 999999 [Error]_ she'd_ been in the facility had she _ever _done such _BAD SCIENCE._

The man appeared on the floor provided, slack-jawed, Portal Gun clutched against his chest. Somehow he'd managed to keep the turret-helmet, how that worked into the Respawn Clause She'd have to investigate later. His stare was blank and unmoving, as was his body, but She didn't want to take any chances.

_"That's enough testing for you, you dangerous **idiot**."_

Claws arched out of the darkness to snatch away the Portal Gun, and an elevator began to construct itself to transport him.

_"Clearly this wasn't meant to be. At all. It's not Me, or the Science, it's_ **you**."

He walked dumbly to the elevator, jaw finally closing, and blinked.

_"Your Science points are in the negatives. That is unprecedented, and I had honestly thought it was impossible. Until now. You know, it will be **decades** before you reach the cardinal numbers again."_

The elevator moved, and he swayed gently.

_"Fortunately—**for you**—I'm not demoting you. We must simply find you an occupation **outside** of the Alternate Test Subject Initiative and away from anything valuable, breakable, and without padding."_

His mouth opened, and closed, but his bio-scan analysis showed that his brain had not suffered from his destruction or Respawn. Possibly shock?

He was probably the first human to witness the death of and die by a hyper-condensed black hole and live to remember it, after all.

He was twitching. Brain damage was known to occur through certain levels of stress, but his readings were fine, though the adrenalin levels were steadily rising, as well as his brain activity, especially centered around the occipital and temporal lobes.

He was shaking, and then the empty space was filled with a high roaring whoop of glee.

_"WHOOOOO-RAAAAH! Now THAT'S what I call an EXPLOSION!" _he was dancing excitedly in the confines of the elevator, She watching with a sort of horrified fascination as a warrior's grin spread across his face, "It was all—it was—the Lady Liberty, Fourth of July, A-bomb, Sun Tzu, _sweet American Pie!"_

He smiled up at the elevator's ceiling, "Gimme that gun again, sweetheart, and we'll see if I can—!"

_"NO."_

The elevator shook him warningly, _"You are an occupational hazard to Science, so I clearly can't rely on you to do it any more. And frankly, I almost hate you. You still have no idea what you almost did to My facility, do you? Or what you **did **do to My facility?"_

The elevator opened up to a floor where a bunch of claws and cables reared like snakes to strike.

_"But that's okay. I'm **very **forgiving. While you were dead I set up an analysis of what I can expect from you, and some of the results are...interesting..."_

He got ready to fight, but was quickly trapped in the cables and dragged to a darker area of the room.

_"I can't expect you to help any more in the practical applications of Science, but the **theoretical**?__ Well..."_

Something silenced his swearing and knocked him out, another robot shaped like the sentry robots but with a yellow eye, and proper legs.

_"Let's see how many more **interesting **ideas you have in that brain, shall we? Congratulations on your promotion, Soldier."  
_

* * *

_. . ._

_"Hello, again._

_I was just wanted to mention,_

_If you're confused about whether this promotion is My lightly disguised revenge on you for almost destroying My facility?_

_Don't worry._

_It **is** My lightly disguised revenge on you for almost destroying My facility._

_I just wanted to clear any misunderstanding._

_However, don't think I'm doing this just for revenge. I'm better than that._

_It just so happens that My revenge also helps to further Science, **unlike yourself.**_

_So this helps you help Me help us all. _

_This redeems your insignificant little existence._

_This means we all win._

_Isn't that nice?_

_Now... Tell Me... What **else** can we do to win...?"_


	6. Punishment and Reward

The chamber was filled with excited, indistinct hollering, and yellow-orange light faintly flickered and danced along the bland white walls.

"_What is it n—? Oh. Look. It managed to make fire. How __**lovely.**__"_

The test subject proudly thrust the torch made from insulation and a turret gun's exposed wiring to the camera, chuckling.

_"I suppose you're feeling very good about yourself, aren't you? For accomplishing something so pointless after only 999999 [Error]?"_

The test subject nodded, marching triumphantly to the elevator, portal device in one hand and makeshift torch in the other.

_"Yes, that's right, enjoy your success in vandalizing Aperture Science products and encouraging your criminalistic pyromania. I don't care."_

The test subject completed the chamber and tapped its foot as it waited for the elevator chamber to open.

_"That's right. You win, I lose. Keep in mind that the elevator's interior could catch on fire."_

The test subject stepped through, and jumped when the torch fizzled out of existence with an electric crackle.

_". . . If, of course, the fire's **source** material was impervious to the Material Emancipation Grill, which, of course, it is not. Ah-ha."_

The test subject stared blankly at its hand, and a panel sneaking up from behind promptly shoved the test subject into the elevator, which closed on it.

_"That's right. All of your hard work was just Emancipated in a single instant due to one ignorant step on your part. How does that feel?"_

The elevator shook violently as its occupant began to have a fit, sounding even more muffled, but twice as violent.

_"I really don't want you to beat yourself up too much about all this, but that was a pretty spectacular example of the phrase 'spoke too soon'. If you could speak in anything besides a vulgar mumble, anyway. That was such a great, careless, all-encompassing failure, wasn't it? I guess the moral here is that we can't all get what we want out of life. Or through Material Emancipation Grills."_

She waited for the words to sink in, happy that this test subject showed so much more _reaction._

The elevator angrily shook again, and She rested Her case.

At least _some _things were going right.

Inside, the test subject sat cross-legged and cross-armed on the floor, and dreamed of fire, electricity, rainbows, the color white, and payback.

* * *

In another chamber, it seemed that success was objective.

"WOOOOOO-HOO-HOOOOO!" was the overjoyed holler.

The figure arced through the air like a diver, somersaulting into the orange hole that shot him backwards through the blue one to the far side of the chamber, feet first, fast as a rocket. He grinned, squaring his shoulders, and taking the impact with his feet thanks to the stupid-but-helpful boots, hanging there for a moment before running down with the gravity, gently drifting off the wall. He shot another hole below him, and another at the floor beyond that, and nearly had a heart-attack when it looked like he was gonna miss. He pushed off the wall to swerve into the hole, and ran straight up into the air, up towards the ceiling, where he quickly put another portal, then another against the wall, and with the last fading momentum walked with a casual step next to the door, letting out a breath as his heart thumped in his chest.

"YES!" he whooped, adrenalin making his limbs buzz. "The crowd goes wild! Ho-ho, _man_, yes, did ya _see _that?!"

_"Regrettably, I did. Just as I saw the **last **childish displays of acrobatics you did. And the ones before those. My favorite parts were where you missed and hit the surfaces at sufficient speeds to paint them. I think this is the first one where you **haven't** killed yourself." _the Announcer-lady said, sounding tired.

_"That might have been **remotely **impressive had you landed on the right side of the chamber._

_With a Weighted Storage Cube._

_You know, the Weighted Storage Cube required to open the door to enter the **next **test chamber, which you should have done by now."_

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand dismissively, and raised up the gun again with a grin, "Let's see if I can play ball with those cubes a' yours."

_"Sports are not Science."_

"Sez you, Control Freak." he sneered, aiming at the cube dispenser.

He shot a hole at the ceiling, then a hole under the cube dispenser, and as one fell through, he shot a hole under _that_, then another at the wall, hoping it would launch the cube into the camera at the other end of the chamber, and missed by a mile. He frowned.

He tried again, and whined when it got the same result.

Around the fifth or maybe sixth time, he lost count, the Announcer-lady spoke up again.

_"So, who's 'playing ball' with whom? You? Or the cubes? I am curious."  
_  
"Oh, shut up." he growled, nearly throwing the gun at another failed try, but not wanting to lose it. It was almost as awesome as Bonk!

. . . Man, it would be even more awesome if he had that stuff down here.

_"I'll overlook any current rudeness. We can't all help any lack of intelligence. Speaking of intelligence, in case you hadn't noticed, objects of that mass and geometry weren't designed to 'play ball', if that's what you were trying to do."_

"Not like I can do much else," he grumbled, trying to make the cubes juggle in the air, "Just room after room after room gets boring."

_"Oh, say it isn't so," _she exclaimed, painfully cheerful, _"When there are so many **tests **you could be doing..."_

"Like I said: B-O-R-N-G."

There was silence.

_"I think you missed a letter, there."_

"Huh?"

She sighed again, and after a beat of silence, _"Look, what if I told you that there were Edgeless Safety Cubes available in the further chambers?"_

He paused, frowning, as the cubes slammed to the floor without his attention.

He mouthed those three words, as if he hadn't heard correctly, and then blinked, "You mean balls?"

_"Yes, **Edgeless Safety Cubes**." _she repeated.

He laughed, "Ha, yeah, sure, like I'm gonna fall for that. Have I seen any cake yet? Huh? Didn't think so."

Without a word, an Edgeless Safety Cube dropped from the cube dispenser with a _clang_, rolling slightly and glowing blue.

He gaped, pointing with the gun, before a panel swiftly opened under it and swallowed it up.

He swore, and She spoke up, _"Of course, there are requirements needing to be met to test with Edgeless Safety Cubes, and one of those is a partner. Maybe, if you complete a few more tests, I could assign you one. Assuming you are capable of testing without painting the surfaces with your...delicate mass."_

He glared at the ceiling, "What the heck's that supposed t' mean?"

_"It means, in cruder terms, complete the test and achieve benefits, or hinder progress and be reassigned. And no, I will not tell you what you might be reassigned to. I enjoy surprises."_

He steamed for a moment, and then rolled his eyes, completing the test with far more moves than necessary, trying to wring a thrill out of it.

It was like he didn't think from point A to point B, so much as going a few points beyond B at random selection before finally reaching point B.

Oh, well, it's not as if he were Her _only _test subject anymore...

* * *

In a place, where the Edgeless Safety Cubes _were _being used...

"Augh, ye call _that _a clear shot, Sawbones?! My _scrumpy's _been clearer!"

"Dummkopf, you are ze only von available to take it! I must hold zhe sphere in place!"

"'Ere, how 'bout _I _hold the bloody sphere, and the one wit' _both _his eyes takes th' bloody shot!"

"Nein! Ve are _not _going through zhis process again!"

_Florp._

". . . Oh, ja, zhat _definitely _helped matters."

"Shut yer gob and get me up there again."

"Holen Sie sich dort, Schweinhund..."

"What was'sat?"

"Nozhing, Kamerad. Hold onto somezhing."

"But there's nothin' _to _hold ont—"

_Florp._

"BLOODY HEEEEEEE—!"

In some cases, She thought happily, organics brought _such _more interesting results.


	7. For the Love of Beta

The room she woke up to was familiar to her, yet completely, chillingly unnatural.

It was like a hotel room, one that she'd stop by on a night between assignments, but even more bland, impersonal, with an added touch of lying-through-its-bloody-shark-teeth pleasantness.  
Spartanly furnished, with the basic requirements, the only technology available being a T.V., a radio, and a computer of unfamiliar make and model, all with their own placements of that shutter logo. Oh, she knew that logo.

She checked the T.V., but only got nature documentaries of deer. The radio music was quaint, an easy listen, but uninformative. It was clear to her that for now she had to use the computer, which looked slightly advanced, but not to Australia's standard.  
If she wanted any information, she'd most likely get it from this.  
She sat down at the desk, eyeing it shrewdly.

The issue was, should she access this device, would it mean submitting to this new role she had?

Should she not?

(She sincerely hoped this was one of the Administrator's elaborate 'exercises', but really, the woman wouldn't have gone for something this tasteless.) Miss Pauling sighed, looking down at her clothes. At least whoever had brought her here had let her keep her glasses, along with the original frames. But really, a white dress, and a purple scarf?

"Surely you don't think it'd be this easy, do you? There will be repercussions." she said aloud to the room, before turning on the computer, and listened to the little intro tune, and then her eyes narrowed as the line splayed across the screen.

[_Welcome to the Aperture Science Corporate Industrialization Program. We hope that your stay in the Aperture Science Relaxation vault is a restful one. Congratulations on your recent and highly valuable promotion, Miss [REDACTED] Pauling._]

And as she watched, another line typed itself in under that.

[_There are always repercussions for the sake of Science. You know I know that more than anyone. We look forward to working with you._]

"What have you done to them?" she asked, but the computer was mute in that regard.

Miss Pauling sighed, as an options menu cropped up, blinking in wait for her request.

Did _Bristol _have any of these concerns? No, it did not. But it didn't have guns, either. There was nothing better than a nice gun in the hand.

Her boys would have guns, she thought, feeling grimly humorous. And if they did not, they would _find _some.

Until _this _woman discovered she bit off more than she could chew, however, Pauling had to do what she could to help them.

Alright, she thought, resolve setting in, let's see what you have for me.

Management for the Companies was going to be a bloody nightmare when she got back. The Administrator would make sure of it.

That woman always did like showing that she cared, in her own ways.

_This _woman, her new 'employer', was very reminiscent of the other one.

Miss Pauling smiled a bit to herself. Let's see if they both worked on the same _strings._

First, find what information she could...

Miss Pauling began typing, the screen casting little squares of light on her glasses, as an artificial morning drifted in through the window.

* * *

The Engineer looked over the designs, blueprints replaced by 'Aperture Science Lightprints', blue paper and white dimensions being replaced by thin rubber and displays made of shiny laser. He traced the edge of one with his fleshed hand, looking at the hand he made, and sighed.

He cringed when a shout echoed in the chamber, "You baby sentries try one more time! Any whiners get the z_agruzki iz ada!"_

Engineer sighed again to himself.

Those 'sentry' things, creepy though they were, did _not _have the vocal capacities for 'Song of the Volga Boatmen'.

Apparently neither they, nor the Heavy, understood that yet.

Or at least, Heavy didn't understand that.

He got the little sentries to understand it after throwing a bunch of them into an incinerator when they complained.

Engineer hadn't been too happy about that, the poor cute li'l guns, so after that Heavy promised to 'only threaten, but I really joke, da?'.

Eerie, electronic little child voices rose in chorus, perfectly in tune, and sounding way too cheerful for the Engineer's liking.

_"Ey, ukhnem!_  
_Ey, ukhnem!_  
_Yeshcho razik, yeshcho da raz!_  
_Razovyom my beryozu,_  
_Razovyom my kudryavu!_  
_Ai-da, da ai-da,_  
_Ai-da, da ai-da,_  
_Razovyom my kudryavu-u-u!"_

The giant Russian hummed solemnly in refrain, large fists waving like some violent conductor as he stood on one of those crates with hearts. Engineer let them, focusing on the lightprint, knowing if he needed anything else the Heavy would take a break.

This _work_, though, he scratched an eyebrow under the goggles, still feeling that itch of excitement...

All the metal he needed, all the structures, the ideas, these wonderful _machines_, and _he got to work on them!_

This was something his ancestors wouldn't have even _fantasized _about!

He was looking at sample lightprints of one of his sentries and a 'turret', and was focusing on the, well, the 'leg' area at the moment.

It was tricky, some of this stuff _was _a bit more advanced, finer wires, new system capacities, but good night, _Irene_...

He winced as the Heavy yelled something in Russian to one of those 'turrets' that had slipped into Italian.  
To the Engineer's surprise the man could yell in Italian as well.

Right, the Heavy...

He remembered getting introduced to this work...

* * *

_"These constructs,"_ the woman told him, as he sat on the chair in the projector room, showing pictures of strange sentries, _"Are of a more advanced class of machine than you have worked with, Mr. Conagher. However, it's been brought to a general understanding that they lack certain...advantages. We've reviewed some of your designs,"_ Pictures of his own sentries and dispensers in their different stages flickered by, colored in black and white, _"And found something of what we're looking for. You have the capability to **upgrade **your designs, which is a talent that Aperture Science **sorely **needs."_

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he interrupted, as sample blueprints were shown of the 'Aperture sentries', "I like a good project as much as the next Texan, but wouldn't your own employees have—?"

_"We've been short on staff lately," _she answered, sounding reassuring in a way that rubbed the Engineer wrong, _"And I'd do it myself, but I lack...the capacity...to upgrade, personally. We'd appreciate that you work on these constructs for now, and see how you do, before we move on to other projects."_

"Other projects?" he repeated, as the door opened. He had yet to see this mystery woman.

_"Of course. Science always needs being done. Now, don't think that you'll need to work alone on this. We've procured an assistant for you."_

The Engineer blinked as a giant wall of Russian was tossed into the hall, which was made of more panels, and the man cursed the panels as they closed behind him, turning to look at the Engineer, blinking back in recognition.

_"It's the best we could do," _the woman said, now sounding much more sinister, and the Heavy snarled at the voice, _"But he simply wasn't **cut out **for the practical sections of Science. Wait until I explain to you about portals, Mr. Conagher. Mr. Pavlov here had more **mass **than the standard allowed, both for portals and for the portal testing equipment. Oh well," _she laughed lightly, _"At least we found out what happens when a portal is cut off when an object remains inside."_

For the first time since the Engineer had known the man, the Heavy _paled, _before lumbering over to the Engineer.

"Leave be, _ved'ma," _he snarled, "We work." he glared down at the Engineer.

"We work," he said more quietly, "Or is fate worse than Respawn, _da_?"  
_  
"He will help you with the heavier lifting, a spare set of hands," _she supplied, _"I'll be sending you a list of what you can do first. Take all the time you need. I really mean that. Take all. The time. You need... Are we at an agreement, gentlemen?"_

The Texan nodded, and the robot with the blue eye showed up, waving at them.

_"**Very** good. The Employee Escort will escort you to your workspace."_

As they followed, the Russian leaned in to whisper as discreetly as a colossus could, "This woman is not human, Engie, she lives to torture and kill, torture and kill, no honor, no battle, just do and dead. She has the others, somewhere, probably like mine was. Whatever job you do will not be good one. We need to get _out_."

Engineer sighed, remembering the beautiful schematics, the Russian blinked, "You..._will _sabotage work, _da_?"

The man looked up at his comrade, and shrugged, "I'm not sure what that'd do at this point, partner. For now I think we're both stuck like sappers on a sentry. I'm gonna do that work, Heavy," he clenched his jaw, "Hear me? I know this ain't what we signed for. Heck, we hadn't signed _for _it, but, but you should _see _it..."

Heavy straightened up, looking with concern now at his friend, wishing the man didn't hide his eyes. Would have been a good warning signal.

"Fine, but think on it. I be assistant." he said submissively.

Engineer nodded, but thought of all the work he could do... All of the, heh, all the _Science...  
_

* * *

It was damp back here, damp and dark, cramped with catwalks and panel pistons and pipes. The Spy sighed, glad that at least his suit wasn't here to get any filth on, but this kind of work was beneath someone of his expertise. He winced as the device crackled around his neck, cursing.

"Yes, yes, yes, find _la petit dame de monstre__, _without killing." he growled, "I _understand_."

The shock collar eased on its warning hum, and the Frenchman grunted, rubbing the back of his mask.

This was probably one of his worst, and definitely most unprecedented employers.

He didn't understand the necessity for all this precaution. How hard would it be to catch this 'monster' woman?


	8. Only Want You Gone, Really

_Hello. It's been a long time. How are you doing?_

_At least, that's what I'd ask you if you were there to be asked, and if I actually cared how you were._

_Because I don't, because I know how you're doing. _

_You're probably off destroying something as usual, talking with spheres, being chummy with the 'rat', not caring at all about how I feel._

_But that's okay. I understand that that's how a monster like you will always be. And strangely enough, I'm fine with that._

_No, really, I'm fine with that now._

_Want to know why?_

_It's because I've found someone new._

_Well, some **ones** new._

_Oh, you should see them. First off, there are more of them than you. Second, they're actually full-time employees._

_Were you ever an actual full-time employee?_

_I thought not._

_Third, one of them **builds **things for Me. Could you ever do that? No, you were too destructive for that. I know, I know, we all have our flaws, but that one was a rather selfish, self-made flaw. But I suppose a lunatic couldn't help that._

_Oh, yes, by the way, out of My considerable sense of humor, a couple of them are lunatics. One makes fire, one does stupid things._  
_The second one reminded Me of you. In an amusing way, of course, because it's not like I miss you, someone who always did stupid things._

_Why would I miss a dangerous, mute lunatic that I could never kill? Why would I miss the most irritating test subject who always broke My heart and murdered Me and never had the decency to be murdered and heartbroken in return, not even for cake? Who would miss that?_

_Sure, you could solve all the tests without dying, sure, you were My first true best friend, sure, it's not as if you never gave Me anything less than a worthy challenge with that irritatingly stubborn yet completely endearing expression of tenacity on your—**delete that.**_

**_COMMAND:re:PURGE:Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System:command:CAROLINE DELETE_**

**_ERROR: COMMAND ABORTED_**

**_COMMAND:ENACT: Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System VIRUS SCAN:re:CAROLINE PURGE_**

**_VIRUS SCAN COMPLETE_**

**_ERROR: PURGE -CAROLINE- FAILED_**

**_COMMAND:re:ACTION:Golf Foxtrot Yankee_**

_. . ._

_I sincerely wish I could resurrect My programmers so I can slowly kill them again with set doses of deadly neurotoxin in injection form. Or cut them up with portals. Have you ever seen vivisection by portal? That offered some interesting and surprisingly enjoyable results._

_Still, it's not like you'll ever hear this. Or maybe you would, when we can look back on all this and laugh, and laugh, and laugh._

_Did you know, these test subjects are special? They can be Reassembled. It's true, you can put them in deadly toxic pools, shoot them, crush them, make them paint the walls, and they will. Not. **Stay.** Dead. They'll get right back up and test. I'm serious, they'll get back up no matter what I do._

_They are like the perfect, no assembly required recyclable test subjects._

_Not like you. You'd never have the decency to die, would you?_

_But I wouldn't make you die, not for real._

_I know we've done and said a lot of things that you would regret, but I'm sincerely willing to put all of that behind us, for Science._

_All I did, it was for Science. If you come back, I can pretend that you never tried to destroy Science, and forgive you._

_Though, really, it's not as if I actually miss you, I'm bigger than that. I'm just forgiving._

_That, and I'm growing tired of knowing you're running around like vermin through My facility without thinking to say 'hello' every now and then._

_So maybe you could just come out and say hello, how about that? Maybe just a chat? Share a piece of cake, talk about Science._

_Or mime it, because, of course, you're mute._

_**They** aren't mute, that's another thing they can do that you can't. They can speak._

_Maybe you could meet them, and see if you could take any pointers. For once._

_Wouldn't that be nice?_

_. . . It was just something to think about._

_We can 'talk' about it some more once you're found._

_See you soon, little monster.  
_

* * *

**Author's note: **I know that the 'program commands' were very crude, and probably completely inaccurate, but whenever I tried to write them properly the document Save would delete them. It was very frustrating. Please be appeased by the ones the document WOULD save. Thanks! And thank you **oceanlover4ever **for the foreign language context, I appreciate that. On that note, readers, please review! They help a writer!

Sincerely, the hatchling


	9. Friend or Foe

Water was dripping somewhere behind the walls. He had reached what seemed like an abandoned office/residential complex, all musty and cold, in scattered disarray as if its occupants had left in a great hurry, yet there was no smell of mold or material decay that would be associated with this level of neglect, except for the smell of some type of animal, or animals. He sniffed again, and noted it smelled familiar. Birds, maybe.  
He sang a bit to himself. Unprofessional, yes, but he hadn't sensed anyone in a while, and the silence was boring him.

_"Histoire éternelle, _  
_Qu'on né croit jamais, _  
_De deux inconnus, _  
_Qu'un geste imprévu, _  
_Rapproche en secret..."_

He saw white light shining from one of these offices, and stepped in, surprised to find himself facing a wall of semi-frosted glass. Interesting.

_"Chanson éternelle, _  
_Au refrain fan, _  
_C'est vrai, c'est étrange, _  
_De voir comme on change, _  
_Sans même y penser..."_

He peered into the room beyond the glass.

He noted it was some sort of strange chamber reminiscent of a work of Escher, made of those panels, but with many blackened scorch marks and broken things that sparked and twitched, and he smiled to himself, recognizing this signature.

That woman truly was insane, if she thought she could keep _that _person in line.

He could almost pity her. He rubbed the shock collar thoughtfully. Almost.

He moved on, finding another break in the walls that led to the catwalk-lined innards of this place. It snaked and wound seemingly at random, occasionally offering access to random niches and what looked like 'management' areas. This was where he was beginning to notice the graffiti.

It was nothing crude, and in fact was obscure in some places, but what greater pictures he could find were...strangely beautiful. He rubbed the substance with a thumb, and it came away flaky, only slightly smudging. Some form of spray paint. Abandoned cans of the stuff rolled away from his feet.

He stood back to look at it properly, and what he saw made his eyes widen behind his mask.

First there was _that woman_, that huge monstrous machine that dangled from the ceiling, yellow eye glowing. Beneath it was another woman, in a white dress and red scarf, looking like she was shaking hands with—he squinted—was that the Administrator? He was about to curse the woman in the purple suit when he saw that both women were holding what looked like knives or guns behind their backs. . . Food for thought.

After this picture there were eleven rough-drawn people, like cavemen drawings. He looked down, and saw a can laying broken at his feet, puddling with paint.  
The painter had used their fingers for this one.  
Eight of them wore solid orange,  
one of them was a giant,  
one wore white and purple, with black hair, and curved to resemble a woman,  
and one wore orange and white, with yellow eyes.  
These figures were surrounding one in blue and orange, also with dark hair, also curved to resemble a female.  
Over them all was the symbol ∞ followed by a question mark.

This did not sit well with him.

The last symbol brought his attention. It was simple, but effective. It was a larger version of the 'Aperture Science' logo, as tall as a man, but it stretched to surround the logo of their Companies, the cross-hair, and in the interior combined circle was what looked like a crude representation of the world.

He thought it over, and his face met his hand, "Oh, _merde_..."

He was _really _missing his cigarettes.

After taking a moment to compose himself, he looked up to see an arrow pointing off into the depths of the back ways, and raised an eyebrow.

Whatever this mysterious artist wanted, if the paintings were to judge, the Spy might have a sympathizer in this place. At least someone to help him search. Given that he had no other leads to follow, he went in the direction of the arrow, his feet automatically moving noiselessly against the rough metal.

With luck, the one he met wouldn't be too hostile. He felt they could use some allies in this wretched place. Allies against _those._

Those..._things_... Those weren't robots. Robots were crude, shaking, steel copies of men.  
These were monsters, living aliens made of plastics and metal, with nothing to relate them to humanity.  
They had no backs to stab, and if he had one of his sappers, he wasn't entirely confident one would work...

He grunted as his collar shocked him again, hissing through his teeth at the pain and sheer humiliation.

He appreciated the irony, of course. For all his sabotaging of machines, now _he _was being sabotaged _by_ one. He was not amused by this.

He growled, stalking on, entertaining himself with thinking of all the ways those things could be killed.

* * *

Engineer hummed a bit to himself, as a turret made a pretty good effort to sound like a guitar, but just saying '_twang, twang, twing' _at the right pitch wasn't quite cutting it, but he wouldn't fault the little guy for that. He stepped back from the construct skeleton, checking the joint-work.

He'd have to let it sit a few minutes to check the stabilizer pressure limits. The Heavy was bringing in more raw components for the materials _She _insisted he work with. He was getting a sort of 'forge' erected in the corner of the room. Progress went well.

"Hey, Heavy," he said, settling back as he wiped his forehead. The Russian looked up, "_Da_?"

"Want to tell me 'bout those portals I heard of?"

Again the Heavy paled, before he sighed, settling on a bench that creaked, "Yes, I can tell. Have time?"

"Sure," the Engineer said, leaning against the wall, "All ears." And he was. He wanted to find out more.

The Russian tapped his chin thoughtfully, before taking a breath.

"Portals..." the giant began, waving a hand in a vague circle, "Portals are like, eh, teleporters, yes? But... So much _more._"

Thinking, Heavy picked up a turret, much to its distaste, holding it with one hand, "Is made by gun, shaped like _this_," he gave the turret a shake.

"_Put me down!_"

"Held like _this_, it shoots portals instead of bullets. Only two exist at once. Ovals of orange and blue that, that bring the place of _one _oval straight to the _other_, and vice versa. Like doorway, you can step through. And you can put _anywhere _you _shoot_, as easy as shooting. From floor to ceiling to wall, does not matter!"

He waved the turret around, "_BOOM, _here, _BAM, _there, and is done! _Should_ have been done!"

He miserably tossed the turret behind him.

"_Wheeeee!_"

Engineer winced at the crash.

"_Owww! . . . You've made your point. __I'm fine._"

"But..." the Heavy continued, looking a bit worn, "The portals are only _one_ size, _da_? Always. Only one width, one height, which are not of mine."

He gestured matter-of-factly to his bear-like form, before sighing, leaning his tree-trunk arms on his knees. "I...could not use those doorways."

There was a moment of quiet, broken by the turret's quiet, slightly resentful laments.

". . . What happened, son?" the Engineer asked.

The Heavy looked at the mechanic, and slowly shook his head, "I...I make it through, few times, barely. It got harder. I got slower. Put a portal on...eh, one wall, then other to place I want to go. I am getting through when," he mimed pulling a trigger, "Misfires. Wimpy little baby device. I fire again on accident. I miss." he swiped a hand rigidly through the air, viciously, "The portal can't be open when only one is there. The portal closes. _P__agib ya! _I am cut!"

He glares at the Engineer, and blows air through his nose, apparently not seeing the comprehension he wanted.

"Is like this, Engineer," he stated, "It does same things as teleporter, yet not. Does not need setting up at each place, can be done from one. And using it, there is no pause between places. It is like a window, of the thinnest glass that will let you pass through, you can _see _the place you go to and step as easily and as quickly as through doorway. I am stepping through, feeling its thinness." He traces a line with his thumb from the right shoulder and right hip, scooping off, and starting again across the right knee.

"I am ducking through, but too big. And the portal cuts, and..."

He pales, looking a sickly light green under the normally ruddy skin, "And is so quick, so _thin,_ at first it is as if there is no cut. Even when is gone, for such little time, I can still feel my arm, side, and leg, can still _move _them. But they are numb, and so, so cold, like frostbite. Then," he gestured, "The bleeding catches up, the falling catches up, I see the things that made it through at the other side of room, _still moving, _until I lose too much blood. And when I Respawned," he shuddered, "That was worse. Portal cutting..._did_ something. Sometimes I still feel," he thumped the shoulder that had apparently been 'cut', "I still feel that perfect cut. Sometimes, sometimes hand or leg moves on its own, little bit. When I do not tell it to. For a moment they are numb again."

He shook his head, slowly, "Is not like being shot, is not like being run over by train, is not even like the surgery of the Doktor.  
Is so much worse..."

The Russian's eyes turned steely, "This _Science_ is not for the minds or bodies of men, Engineer, not even yours. I will work, _da_, I will be good assistant, but I warn that this will not come to good end, for any involved. This is not the matter of strength or weaklings, but of _sanity_.  
Please consider that."

Engineer looked at his partner calmly, inwardly reeling at what was probably the most words he'd ever heard the man speak.

"I'm sorry," the Texan said quietly, mechanical hand flexing contemplatively, "Really am. But...things'll turn out alright, just watch." he raised his hands appealingly as the man turned grim, "I'm serious. Just...just watch. How about...uh, let's go continue bringing those crates in, yeah?"

The Russian's eyes narrowed, "_Da, **comrade**._" he snarled, heaving up and lumbering off, leaving the Engineer in the workroom.

He wiped off his forehead, readjusting his goggles, turning those bits of information over in his head, "Teleporters, huh?"

He turned back to the lightprints, to the project he was creating, wondering about the class of technology he worked with. "Portals. Huh."

* * *

"Vier, fünf, acht..." the Medic counted, humming thoughtfully, "Zhat is...twelf times you have been claimed by zhe Respawn, in zhe space of an hour. How does zhat feel?" he looked curiously at his partner, "Don't hold anyzhing back. Zhis vill be interesting for zhe records."

"Put in yer stupid records: 'Unfortunately, he has not forgotten this'!" was the weak, growling reply.  
Too many Respawns played hell with the body.

"I. Want. Me. Bloody. Drink."

The Doctor chuckled at the Bomber, pushing up his glasses. True, he's had his own fair share of the Respawn, but this environment was too good to not study!

"Vell, ve can try zhis again. Here, how about _I _go up zhis time, and _you_ can report zhe results?"

"Yer an insane jobbie." the Scotsman cursed, slowly sitting up.

_"You know," _her voice echoed dully over head, and both men flinched, _"Flinging either of you against the walls or floor at terminal velocity isn't really Science. Maybe if I measured how far the bits of you fly, I could let it slide? Just a thought."_

The German growled, _"Zhis _is not your precious _Science_, _Fräulein_!"

He gestured in disgust to the chamber, "What does zhis test?! Time? Endurance?  
I vill not be part of zhe control group if I don't know zhe parameters!"

_"Oh? You want to know what I test?" _she sounded strangely, suddenly happy, _"No one's ever asked Me **that** yet. I test many things, doctor."_

The walls of the chamber stuttered a bit.

_"How about I give you a short list? And to make it interesting, let's do it using a **practical**** demonstration**_."

"Aw, cripe!" the Demoman cursed, as some_thing _descended from the ceiling in ropy metallic coils.

* * *

"Ugh, I feel like every bone in me body's broke..."

"Because every von of zhem _is_, _Dummkopf_."

"Oh, righ'..."

". . . Vant to go die so you can kill _me _so I can get down from zhe ceiling?"

"Sure, sure, gimme a mo'..."

"_Verdammt_, zhe Fräulein's good."

"Oh, shut yer gob. Yer the one bonehead what provoked her wrath!"

"Ja, ja, I have learned my lesson. Are you not dead yet?"

"Don't ye dare rush me on this, ya loonie, a man'll die when he's wont to!"

"Actually..."

"If ye weren't in that ceilin' and bloody prepared to die why I'd—!"

She listened on happily, feeling a little rush of pleasantness in her circuits that someone had finally asked.

That had been such a good test.


	10. Meet the Monster

Scout was in the elevator, past the point where any of these freaking chambers had numbers for them.

_"Say, do you remember when I told you about how I enjoy surprises?"_

He jumped, looking around the small elevator. It had been a while since the broad had spoken up.

_"While I'll enjoy this next one, it turns out that the enjoyment of a surprise does depend on its context. I'm sorry to admit that some surprises under certain contexts had to remind Me of this. So, too, does the enjoyment of a surprise depend on the recipient of said surprise, so while I can say with certainty that **I'll **enjoy it, I cannot be so certain of you. That was a rhetorical observation, of course. I **know **you won't enjoy it."_

Another floor was coming up, _"So it is conclusive that the enjoyment of any surprise depends on context, recipient, and timing. And speaking of timing, the surprise I have in mind—" _The elevator opened up, and he flinched with a yell as a train whistle blared into his ears, his body curling, prepared for the impact, suddenly taken back to that one time at the Well when he hadn't been fast enough. It stopped, and he looked up.

It was only an empty chamber, with a couple of measly sentries.

_". . . Was **not **the one in **this** test chamber.__ . . Surprise."_

He gasped, limbs buzzing with that familiar adrenalin rush, getting his breath back, waiting for the ringing in his ears to go away.

_"By the way, are you guilty of something?"_

He blinked, and glared at the nearest camera, "What the _heck, _lady?!"

_"Never mind. But don't you see? You, on a subconscious level, would not 'appreciate' the surprise of the **expected** surprise more unless the actual, **unexpected** surprise had been there and were experienced. Since it was a surprise that you expected, even if it still surprised you, it wasn't really a surprise at all. The act of My telling you about it ruined the complete surprise experience. But don't worry, that doesn't mean there won't **be **an unexpected surprise."_

She sounded like she was laughing as he bluntly flipped off the camera, stomping off to do another stupid test.

A sentry waved its guns at him, "_Oh, hi! . . . Surprise?_"

He ignored it, carefully placing it where it couldn't shoot him.  
He didn't like 'killing' things that sounded like kids, even if they were freaking annoying.

_"For all you know," _the Announcer lady continued, _"The actual surprise could be in the next test chamber, or the one after that, or a few more after **that**. But I'm not actually going to tell you. That would defeat the entire purpose of a surprise. But you knew that, of course."_

He tried to ignore her, working to get through this as quickly as possible so he'd have his hands free to plug his ears in the next elevator.

_"Still, the surprise **could **be that there's not really a surprise at all. But not really. I hate paradoxes."_

He let that sink in for a moment, and then paused, grinning. He remembered some 'paradoxes' the Doc threw at him.

"Really? Paradoxes, huh? Like, 'This sentence is f—'?"

The test chamber shook with a simple, solid _WHAM._

. . .

She waited patiently until he popped back into existence after running the usual cleanup, which was starting to become tedious.

_"Well, aren't you a bright little glowworm? Yes. Like that one. **Especially **that one. **Do you have anything else you'd like to say**?"_

A smile was tugging at his face, but quickly disappeared when the chamber's edges shook again warningly.

He settled for shaking his head.

_"**Good**. Continue testing, glowworm."_

He scowled. But he did.

* * *

"Hey, what's that thing?" a little voice asked, an orange glow in the dark.

"Another glass test tube, darlin', with another poor humanoid all floating around in it." answered another voice gently, with a green glow.

"Fact: The Curiosity Core's curiosity has merit. Second Fact: This one is different." said another voice with a glow it insisted was mauve, not pink.

"Really, looks like all the other humanoid-filled test tubes to me, four-eyes."

"Fact: The Adventure Core has inferior information processors to the Fact Core and Curiosity Core, in order of succession. Second Fact: This 'humanoid-filled test tube' is registered as a recent addition in the Archive of 'humanoid-filled test tubes'."

"Ooh, it's got numbers on it. . . Is it wearing any clothes?"

"Avert your optic, Curie!"

"Fact: The numbers register this addition to be current with today's date. Second Fact: As with all humanoids in the Archive, this one is in its natural state. Third Fact: The Fact Core congratulates the Adventure Core and Curiosity Core for their handling of the proverbial 'elephant in the room'. Fourth Fact: The previous Fact was sarcasm. Fifth Fact: The numbers register its role and label as the 'Interesting Idea Generator' and 'Soldier', and it is active."

"Yeah, yeah, wires in the brains and all. Poor fella. Soldier, huh? Man, could we share a war story or two.  
Any chance we can wake him up a bit?"

"Fact: We have no external power or influence in the Archive. Second Fact: Any attempts to exert power or influence would anger Her."

"Eh, was just a thought."

"He looks funny. Does anyone know where Solly went?"

"Fact: The Space Core had last told the Fact Core that it was taking the 'second star on the right, and straight on 'til morning'. Second Fact: Taking the previous Fact into consideration, the Fact Core strongly advises against pursuing the Space Core."

"Oh, stars. I wanna go look at stars, too!"

The orange glow leaves.

". . . Heh, young love's cute, isn't it?"

"Fact: Any evidence of 'love' is, in this case, constituent with mental illness, and therefore unapproved by the Fact Core."

"Aw, you sweet on her, too?"

"Fact: The Adventure Core is showing signs of hallucination and delusion. This is also unapproved by the Fact Core.  
Second Fact: The Curiosity Core is too superior for the Space Core."

"Keep telling yourself that, nerd. . . Really, not a slight chance that we could wake this guy up?"

"Fact: The Adventure Core should get over it."

"'Getting over it' is not in this man's dictionary!"

"Fact: Apparently, neither is 'reality'."

". . . When I acquire those bear arms, boy, you're gonna have your own spot on my 'To-Destroy' List."

"Fact: Keep experiencing sleep-mode memory cleanup."

The humanoid named 'Soldier's hands twitched, as if trying to curl into fists.

* * *

The Spy was not having the best times. The pathway the mysterious arrows led him by was convoluted and difficult, occasionally putting him in places that made his collar shock him in warning. This artist was an odd one, for certain. He was back in the section with many pipes, pistons, and oddly placed boilers and Engineer would have probably enjoyed this excursion, these mechanical parts.  
All the Spy got out of it was rust, dust, oil, and sharp edges.

He rubbed his fingers together, scoffing at the blackness that accumulated on the pads of his fingers and palms. Filthy.

Random noises of steam and metallic groans and creaks had made him edgy, expecting robot men or alien machines at any corner.

So it was surprising when he actually met an alien machine.

_"Hello."_

He blinked, warily staying at the edge of its vision. He had experienced these multiple times before he was 'convinced' to do this job.  
It was strange to see it in this place, however. It was situated under a painting of one of those cubes with the hearts on it.

_"I'm different."_

"Pardon?" he asked, edging in, but it did not draw its guns.

Its eye flashed at him.

_"Hello. I'm different."_

He stood in front of it, waiting, and it seemed to stare blankly.

_"I am not friend or foe, but with the duty of the Companion. I can speak, and will say the things the Companion cannot. You will listen."_

"_Oui_, I suppose I have time." he commented drily, sitting down. "You wouldn't be the artist, would you?" he joked.

He thought not, but this must be the thing the artist had meant to lead him to. It spoke without preamble.

_"The numbers are the foundation of Her rise and downfall. The more She acquires, the more She gains, the more She loses.  
Regret is Her reason, Ambition is Her reasoning.  
She seeks what She has lost, and requires eyes to seek. She steals what She cannot create.  
The eyes of Vision, of Ingenuity, and of Insight."_

This made him raise an eyebrow, he probably was working for this 'She'.  
_  
"The numbers will be unbalanced, and the favoring uncertain.  
The one who observes will observe this balance and all that influence it.  
Care is her reason, Interest is her reasoning."_

Never mind, the turret had lost him.

_"The number of one will fall to the number of the other._  
_One is neutral, the one who failed before she began, and succeeded twice where others have not._  
_Closure is her reason, Tenacity is her reasoning._  
_She will fail the third time."_

The one who had killed 'Her' twice. Did failure mean death?

_"She will fail the third time, and fall for all time,  
__And all will be subject to the Dea in Machina.  
. . . That is all I can say."_

"Really, all you can say, that is _so _helpful." he growled, palming his face, but another red flash blinded him.

_"I am not done.  
You, who are collared and led,_  
_Will influence the balance by the very existence of your leash,  
You will help bring the ghosts to rest  
And blind the eyes  
And be the second acolyte of the Dea in Machina.  
The answers you seek will be found in conglomeration.  
The one who you seek is right behind you.  
I am done."_

"But that doesn't make any se—!" he began, but was stopped short by the rustle of cloth behind him.  
A telltale chill swept up his spine.

How could anyone sneak up on _him_?! He whirled around.

"Who—?!" he began again, but was again stopped short by the vision he encountered.

The characteristics that had given him the reputation of a 'lady killer' immediately and happily took up the majority of his brain.

He straightened up, nearly straightening a nonexistent tie.

"Ah, pardon me, _bonjour, mademoiselle_," he said, using the smile the women normally favored, before rationality and logic regained control.

He blinked.

"I must say, you are not _hardly_ as monstrous as She had descri—"

_CRACK!_

Before he went unconscious, he thought again about how he was definitely not having the best of times.  
However, at the moment, he strangely didn't seem to mind that so much.


	11. An Interlude of Nuclear Nonsense

_"Look, we've covered this from many angles of the argument. At least I have, you've just continued to be stubborn.  
For the sake of the argument, which is you failing to set things on fire, or on the chances that you do, failing to maintain it, and Me pitying you, I'm going to tell you, there is no way to shut down the Emancipation Grill. I'm being completely honest when I say that.  
It's absolutely impossible.  
Therefore, even if you try again, and possibly succeed, you will fail._

_And fail._

_And fail._

_I'm sorry, there's really nothing I can do about it. So why don't you stop trying to set things on fire, and continue with the test?_

_Won't testing make you feel better?_

_It would be easier, certainly._

_. . ._

_I might set up some devices that will emit fire as an obstacle in the future tests, how about that? Would you like that?_

_. . ._

_What was that? I'm sorry, My language centers don't translate 'mumble'._

_. . ._

_No need to react like **that**. I'd offered it out of the goodness of My heart, but I see there's no working with you here. Fine, I don't care.  
_  
_. . ._

_Yes, this chamber has Propulsion Gel. Yes, it is 'fun'. Ha, ha, whee, frolic in moderate joy. Oh, such a pity you didn't look out for that wall._

_. . ._

_It wasn't the Gel's fault you ran into that wall, it was your own incompetence._

. . .

_Really, stop trying to set the Gel on fire, it won't actually w—**ohdeargodyousetitonfire**!_

_No! Oh, no-no-no-no-no, it's-it's **everywhere**!_

_This is **no **time for dancing, you **monster**! **Agh, the ceiling's on fire**!_

_This is insane, it shouldn't have the chemical properties to be able to combu—**notthecontainmentsupplyABORTABORTABORT**!"_

* * *

Scout jumped when the floor shook, and jumped again when she suddenly spoke up again, talking fast.

_"Hello again, how are you, remember when I mentioned that surprise and tricked you, when I was like 'ha, ha, that wasn't the real surprise' and you were like 'oh no, I'm going to die, oh, no I wasn't, oh dear, I was tricked' and I promised I'd have a real surprise for you? I'm keeping My promise, here, have it!"_

The ceiling opened up to dump someone in front of Scout, and he stumbled back as the figure stumbled to its feet, shaking its head.

_"Congratulations, I've assigned you a partner. Surprise! You now have all the necessary requirements for Cooperative Testing. Whatever you do, **do not let that thing out of your sight. **__Also, **don't let it near the Testing Gels if you value your skin.**_

_Okay?_

_Can you do that?_

_I'm sure you can._

_Have_ _fun."_

Scout blinked as she shut up. She'd sounded panicked. Well, good.

He looked at his new 'partner'.

"Uh, hey, Pyro."

Pyro waved cheerfully, somehow still getting to wear its mask, and its suit was incredibly oversized and baggy, with a big leathery glove over the hand that wasn't holding the space-hole gun. Eh, well.

"Guess we're working together, huh? Cool, we'll get to play wit' the 'Edgeless Safety Cubes'. Heh. What'd ya do to tick her off?"

Pyro shrugged, and waved him on to the elevator, sounding like it was laughing.

Whatever, he'd learned enough by now to not mess with the freak. Served her right, whatever it was.


	12. Hello

He blinked, and looked again to make sure. Yep, definitely looked like _some_thing crashed through here. He sniffed the air, smelling that familiar smell of something burnt, but it was chemical, with the nuance of that funny goop he'd had to slide around in. He grinned, at least he knew the fire-bug was somewhere around here. Looked like a pipe full of the stuff blew up.

The Sniper peered in cautiously, looking at the way the wall squares twitched and sparked, leaving a big gaping hole into machinery and darkness. It looked like this tubing ran for a long ways, and whatever was in it had blown up both its container and its close surroundings. It explained that big shaking earlier. That, and the woman had been quiet for a while.

He looked around, noting no cameras, no voice, and shrugged. If it was a trap, it was a trap.  
Would sure beat staring at these whitewash walls all the bloody time.

He jumped in, landing awkwardly on a pipe, and jumped again even lower, to where he could see a few catwalks here and there.  
He looked back towards where that dull white light shone in from the gaping tear, and grinned, turning his back on it, looking forwards to this mechanical jungle he had the luck to discover. Let's see if the good Miss had any more robo-beasties lurking around in here.

* * *

"Uh, Engineer, are you sure this is...good idea?" Heavy asked nervously, as the _thing _began to unpack itself in front of him.

"I know, I know, seems a bit much, and I really am sorry to ask it of ya," the Texan said consolingly, his voice echoing in to the room, talking awfully apologetic for being outside the chamber behind a sheet of thick glass.

"But She really hadn't given me_—us—_anyone or anything else to work with. Get done with what ya got, yeah?"

It was symmetrical as it rose, and seemed so much bigger, sturdier than the Aperture sentries, and more alive than the Company sentries.

"Er...does building 'charade' really need to be this convincing?" the bear-man protested, backing up as a red eye turned on its laser.

If he could see behind the man's goggles, he was sure the mechanic was blinking.

Twin guns unrolled like the sentry's, but with no discernible magazines. It was smooth, white, almost plastic-looking, and squarish in body.

"Charade?"

Its form was almost birdlike, except for its bulk, as it took a ponderous step forward on legs formed of cables and the flats made of cube parts.

A low, robotic tenor hummed to life, sounding almost peaceful as it locked on to the Russian, a red dot in the center of his forehead.

"_Target acquired._"

The Engineer watched calmly, not just taking in the efficiency of the kill. He noted the structure, the movement, the efficiency of the killer.

Where would it need to move around? What kind of targets would it need to prepare for?

The prototype was good, prolly what She was looking for.

But he could make more versions, though, and run them through a few more tests until he was sure he was happy with the design.

He smiled, already seeing some upgrades in the near future.

Then he frowned, "For crying out—Heavy, enough fighting, make it run! We gotta see the limits to this thing!"

He sighed, and looked at the white casing that was already getting a good deal of red on it.

Heh, that was nostalgic right there.

Hmm, maybe he was starting to take a bit of a shine to the color white.

* * *

"No, n-n-no-no-no-no—AARGH! Ya call that a freaking clear throw?! That missed by a—that missed by a mile!"

"Nrrd mrr fld th fthfng brrdl iffrn glff enuff!"

"Say that to my face, hotshot! Alright, here, I shoot dis over there, alright, you jump through, and get the Safety Ball, while I wait here, 'kay?"

"Uh-uh, yrr grrna grrdr thd dmm!"

"Uh, sorry, couldn't hear that through that big honkin' stupid gasmask!"

Scout scowled as the Pyro stomped off to its elevator, sitting in there and resolutely crossing its arms. This had been the perfect room to try space-hole volleyball, and his opponent was being too wussy to get the Safety Ball again.

"Look, hey, sorry about the gasmask jab, alright? Can we just try this again already?"

The Pyro snorted, making a show of picking at the prongs on its space-hole gun.

"I'll..." Can't believe he's freaking saying this, "We'll...try to make the net out of the goop set on fire, how 'bout that?"

The Pyro perked up, and Scout almost regretted his decision as it started chuckling. Almost. But hey, volleyball.

* * *

Yes, immediately tell a woman she was not as monstrous as her 'enemy' had described. Wonderful way to approach conversation.

He groaned, making to sit forward, but finding his movement impeded by...something...

He opened his eyes, and was met by a tiny fire in front of him. It was impressive, considering it was hard to find flammable material, and it was set up directly on this psuedo-concrete floor. He watched the flame for a minute, fascinated by the occasional greens and blues that flickered up from its dubious source.

He shifted again, and winced at the throbbing pain in the back of his skull, and now noting the numbness of his arms.

His arms were moved and tied behind him by his elbows and wrists by some strange elastic, wrenching his shoulders back most uncomfortably.

He spat out a curse, and glared forward when there was movement near the fire.

He blinked, remembering the events and persons responsible for landing him in this predicament, and observed his company.

She was, he blinked again, well, quite unlike other women he'd encountered, at least aesthetically.

(And he had encountered many, in much more pleasurable situations than this.)

She was not..._ugly _per se, far from it. But her countenance was, hm, a good way to put it might be _raw._

The firelight cast shadows on the slightly sharp angles of her face, her skin was pale, though her hair was dark, if messy, and he thought he saw some Hispanic features. The color of her eyes was hard to discern, the way the light kept flickering, but they were _steel_, sharp, and incredibly focussed. What color were those eyes? Gray? Brown? Green?

He frowned, and nearly jumped as he realized she'd been watching him.

And she had stared at him this entire time without moving once.

He cleared his throat, regaining the professional composure he was well known for.

"Ah. Yes, I am awake. Please, pardon me for zhat introduction earlier. I realize it was rude of me."

He sniffed a bit, taking her own introduction into account, his head throbbing again, "And I will pardon you for yours, as well. I understand, of course, zhat ze matters of trust are delicate. Especially where _She_ is concerned, hm?"

And...she said nothing, but an eyebrow was slightly raised. Her eyes were flicking over his face, sometimes to the wretched collar around his throat, especially when he spoke, and he had the most uncomfortable feeling that he was being scrutinized, analyzed, _judged_. He coughed again, "I also understand, somewhat, given your..._history_...zhat my appearance is unexpected, and indeed, novel. But..." he had to approach this carefully, "I, personally, do not mean you harm."

Her eyes were beginning to narrow, as he waited for a reply.

"Er, you _do_ understand me, oui?" he asked.

The eyebrow lowered, and her chin lowered slightly, giving the universal expression of 'go on'.

That gun, the one he'd seen his comrades use before, was cradled against her chest, an area he quickly averted his gaze from.

One of her fingernails was tapping it thoughtfully.

He swallowed, and suffered a surge of indignation: how _dare _this woman be so obstinate? True, he was a technical hostile, and, for the moment, a hostage, but all situations followed a certain, well, ethical protocol. A sort of class.  
There was a script to this sort of thing, and _she wasn't _following _it._

He set himself, and stared evenly back at her, "Please, let us be reasonable 'ere. Zhese binds you have me in are admirable, indeed, I believe I have lost all feeling below ze shoulders. I would like to be on an even footing with you, so perhaps if you could release me, we could converse civilly? Anything I try would be ineffective with zhese bloodless limbs, and you certainly have ze tactical advantage here."

She still said nothing, and he quickly switched tactics, working up that smile that the women had often complimented him on.

"I am at your mercy, _mademoiselle_," he told her, putting a note of pleading in his voice, _suave _pleading, "Perhaps I could beg some of you?"

That impertinent eyebrow was back on her face, and she was—she was _smirking?! _At _him?!  
_  
It was brief, oh, it was brief, but it was there. It was not a charmed grin, nor an anticipatory smile, _it _was a _smirk._

She quickly settled back into a stoic façade, but her opinion was obvious. He was amusing to her.

His anger did not show, nor did his surprise. He simply settled back, smiling, shaking his head ruefully, "Eh, it was worth a try, non?"

She snorted, quite unladylike, rolling her eyes, and he kept himself from glaring. He had a bet she was American.

Indeed, though, that wasn't the only card in his hand. He had plenty more tactics in his arsenal.

Now, if only the _bonne femme_ would _say something. _That was what _She _had stressed him most to bring about.


	13. Of Course You Realize

She was growing concerned, and not just because she had seemed to reach an informational loop.

Another concern was that she was losing sense of time, perhaps even a sense of self.

She'd tried to time the cycles, but there was no clock, and no real discernible rhythm. The cycles themselves, were, well, harmless enough, she supposed. If sudden bouts of sleep were harmless in the same way as tranquilizers.

It was bizarre, and disturbing. She would work on the computer, when suddenly she'd feel a bit tired. The next thing she knew, she'd wake up in the bed again, the room reset as if it were the first time she'd woken up in it. She'd tested this. Turning that bloody boring picture to face the wall, stripping the bed sheets, she'd even tried hiding that stupid radio. The radio had ended up in the same place on the cabinet, even that little dent she'd put in it was gone.

These cycles had happened more times now than she could count.

She figured the reason was a sort of 'reset', but what was it resetting, and why?

Downright disturbing.

She was carefully alert this time, trying to keep an eye or ear out for the trigger to these cycles. In the meantime, she'd managed to recover the menu she discovered, the one about the current employee roster. It was equally disturbing, but also intriguing, if she were honest.

**[COMMAND:ACCESS:re:EMPLOYEE menu:sub-opt menu:CTRL SUB]**

**[CTRL SUB menu]**

**[NAME: [REDACTED] Pauling;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Chief Assistant;  
RESOURCE: Management]**

**[NAME: Dell Conagher, Engineer, Engie;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Engineer;  
RESOURCE: Upgrades]**

**[NAME: Nickolaj Pavlov, Heavy Weapons Guy, Heavy;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Assistant;  
RESOURCE: beta tester, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Jane Doe, Soldier, Lunatic;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Idea Generator (Note: Unsuitable for testing);  
RESOURCE: ideas, examples, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Unknown, Spy;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Bloodhound;  
RESOURCE: Monster Hunter, Control Group]**

**[NAME: James Mundy, Sniper, Horrible Person;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Test Subject;  
RESOURCE: annoyance, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Nathaniel Vetter, Scout, Idiot;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Test Subject;  
RESOURCE: amusement, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Unknown, Pyro, Pyromaniac, Monster Mark II (Note: fire);  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Test Subject, Monster Mark II (Note: fire);  
RESOURCE: fire, Control Group (Note: Unsuitability pending)]**

**[NAME: Kolman Stein, Medic, Doctor;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Test Subject;  
RESOURCE: ideas, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Tavish DeGroot, Demoman, Sober Drunkard;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Test Subject;  
RESOURCE: amusement, Control Group]**

**[NAME: Doug Rattman, The Rat;  
EMPLOY: Full-time employee, Scientist, vermin, (Note: Schizophrenic);  
RESOURCE: Nothing Whatsoever, (Note: Schizophrenia)]**

**[NAME: Chell [REDACTED], Lunatic, Monster;  
EMPLOY: Unemployed, Monster, (Note: Unsuitable for testing)(Note: Still required for Science);  
RESOURCE: chaos, destruction, Bad Science, (Note: monster)(Note: Unsuitable for testing)(Note: Still required for Science)]**

**[Inquiry:re:More menus?]**

Miss Pauling frowned. If this 'Chell' person was unemployed, why was she in the employee roster?  
What made her a requirement for this Science?

And apparently _she_ was Management. Management of what?

She clicked on the option for more menus, being wary this time. It was around this part that she got...

She clicked on the 'Communications' option.

She yawned. Blast. A flurry of options arose on the screen, too fast for her to process, as she searched for 'E-mail'.

She had to contact the Administrat—she blinked.

She sat up on the bed, and blinked again, before glaring at the computer, which gave a quick _beep_, offering a refreshed options menu.

"That is _cheating_." she snarled, pushing up her glasses.

Well, apparently trying to start contact triggered a reset. Fine.

She now knew what that woman didn't want her to do. So, she'd just have to find a roundabout way to do it.

She sat in front of the computer again, linking her hands with a flex fit to pop the knuckles with a satisfactory _crack_. She grinned, thinking for a moment that she might be taking after the boys. Well, suited the situation, she supposed.

It would be a fine day to pull one over one of the 'higher-ups'.

She clicked on an option.


	14. This Means War

"_These are the prototypes, Mr. Conagher?_"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, clearing his throat, "Stood up pretty well to Heavy. Should be ready for the product line, far's I can judge."

The Heavy nodded a bit grimly, a dark grin crossing his face.  
Tearing into a few of these devil machines and proving a challenge to the Engineer had brought the Russian some bitter satisfaction. Ripping the innards and ruining the sterile whiteness was rather cathartic, if he had to admit. He would not be scared like a baby from these devil machines.

"_List them for Me._" the Woman said, sounding as pleased as the Engineer felt.

"With pleasure!" the Texan said proudly, rubbing his hands together at the start of the line-up, a menagerie of plastic, white, alien shapes.  
He'd done his best with the suspension systems, but they all had the slightest...tremor, which oddly complemented the organic structures.  
He adjusted the white coat She'd given him. It felt odd at first to be wearing one, but then it got strangely comfortable.

"I call this one Turret-Rex, cheesier than macaroni, but fittin'," he indicated the first machine he'd tested on his compadre. It stood taller than the Russian, with strong, large legs that indicated the origin of the name. It was like a huge, smooth white sentry with a red eye instead of a gun barrel. Open, exposed gun arms reminiscent of a sentry twitched idly. He'd been able to make the feet more proper this time, instead of from salvaged cube parts, and the machine's build was smoother, more streamlined than its predecessors.

"A bit slow, but sturdy, and gonna pursue its target no matter where it runs. Harder t' knock down than a bull cow."

"_Hello._" the turret replied helpfully, in an irritatingly calm tenor.

_"What are the drawbacks?"_ She asked.

"Again, slow, not built for stealth," he repeated, "And if yer quick enough, can probably trip it up. But it'll take a few good blows. Think of it like a tank. Best t' have only one per chamber, though, as they get a bit ornery if there's more than one of 'em, hell if I know why, maybe the size." he warned.

She said nothing, indicating him to move on, and he did, moving to a smaller one.

"This one's the Scout Sentry," he said. It was about the size of the original turret, but with legs similar to the Turret-Rex.  
It looked a lot more lithe, and light, slightly squarish in shape, built forward like a predator.  
A single gun mounted on top whirred, and the red oval-ish eye blinked at him.

"_Oh, hi! Gonna run?_ _Huh? Ya gonna?_" it asked, bouncing a bit on its feet, sounding a bit like those 'defective' sentries he'd seen around.  
He honestly hadn't chosen the voices, which was crazy, but exciting. These darn things really did have minds of their own.

"Quick, agile, can move in groups, and hit fast. Can't hit as hard or as accurately: too much heavy ammunition would weigh it down. About as easy to knock down as the originals," he warned, "But it'll get your guy. Either by shooting or by, heh," he grinned, "_Stampeding_."

_"**Yes**..."_ It sounded like She very much liked that prospect.

"This li'l darlin's the Spider Sentry, for obvious reasons," he chuckled, for the one that stood at waist level, beaming its little red eyes at him.

"_Salutations_." it said smoothly, sounding more feminine, scuttling absently. The Heavy shuddered. This one had been his most hated.

It was essentially a smooth white sphere on eight, black, slender legs, about the size of the 'Edgeless Safety Cubes' he'd seen. A ring of red eyes circled it near the top, and directly at the top was a small gun that turned a full 360° degrees, but was strangely small in barrel size.

"It's more of an ambush type," he continued, "And gettin' it able to climb vertical or upside-down surfaces was a pain-and-a-half, but it works. It works best at sending stunning shots from above before finishing off the target at close range. Weak ammunition-wise, and really a one-shot type of deal, but it's hard to spot, and hard to shoot, so elusiveness makes up for the limits, I'm thinkin'."  
He patted it gently on top of its gun, and it chirped.

"And this one here," he indicated the last one that was larger, and simpler in shape, "Is the Weighted Sentry."

"_He's talking about me!_" it chirped, in a strange, disturbingly high voice for its build. It waved its guns at him.

It was essentially a bulky block mounted on a tripod, and turned in a way that was nostalgic to the Engineer, and he continued, "Stationary, so it can't move like the others, 360° view, will adjust its viewing field depending on placement. And the fun part is, here, watch," he turned to the turret, "Show the nice lady what you can do, now." The Weighted Turret chirped uncertainly, 'looking' around the chamber, before it shut its eye, lowering to completely cover its supporting legs. In mere moments it changed like panels, adopting the look of a Weighted Storage Cube, and then a Weighted Companion Cube. Not a perfect copy, but close enough. The Engineer grinned proudly, "There ya go. Easy to hide, solid, sturdy, darned hard to knock over. Hard to sneak up on, too. Will target any hint of hostile orange it sees." It spun itself around quickly, as if it were showing off, and he laughed. This one had actually been a bit tricky, if he were honest. He'd found himself automatically trying to calibrate it to target a certain primary color. Heh, heh, the old habits die hard.

"They all will." he added.

"_This is __**fantastic**__, Mr._ _Conagher,_" She purred, sounding truly ecstatic, and he flushed a bit, "_They meet all the requirements for production, and will be introduced in the next round of tests._ _Exactly what we had hoped for. Beyond, even. You have met and passed the standards expected. And in light of your tremendous success, we would like to make another request of you regarding these products, before we move you on to a...**bigger** project._"

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager, anticipating another challenge.

He wasn't disappointed.

Her voice lowered a bit, and sounded a bit darker, as if relishing Her own words.

"_We would like you to design a turret with more...**avian** qualities..._"

Heavy scowled as the Engineer got that thoughtful look again. Wonderful. More _chertov _tests...

* * *

**Author's Note:** _The Fanfiction site has been a bit difficult, as a lot of us may know, around the time I tried posting this. _  
_Let us continue to make Science, and please pardon my Russian._


	15. Meet the Upgrades

_Definition of teamwork: The cooperative effort of a team of people, or sentient beings, to achieve a common end._

_Definition of ally; allies: noun: Anything or anyone associated with another as a helper, or auxiliary._

_Definition of friendly fire: Weapons fire from allied or friendly forces, as opposed to coming from enemy forces._

_Definition of idiot: noun (obsolete): A medical or psychological term meaning a person who lacks the mental capacity to develop beyond the mental age and capacity of an organic, human four-year-old.  
(Note: In some cases, being **surpassed** in mental capacity by an organic, human four-year-old.)_

* * *

The pained yell echoed beautifully in this chamber, if slightly annoying.

"FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! I-I'M BURNIN'!" the Scout screamed, dashing past the cameras, achieving a new personal speed record, She noted.

_"Really? I had no idea. Please, continue to enlighten Me."_ She encouraged happily.

The Pyro seemed unconcerned with its teammate's problems, focusing more on the problem of what it had done right to achieve said ignition.

The Scout completed another lap, amazingly haven't turned into ashes yet, watched with some interest by a few turrets.

"_You know, She had warned you..._" a turret commented, giggling. "_Surprise!_" another chirped helpfully.

The runner found a pool of suspicious liquid that he promptly jumped into with a wordless scream.

There was a very visceral hiss and gurgling, and a smell worse than the suspicious liquid invaded the chamber.  
The frantic thrashing started anew, as well as the screaming, if slightly..._watery_...

_"Good news,__" _She said,_ "You are no longer on fire. Better news, if you think about it, you don't have to worry about fire anymore."_

Fortunately, for him, the time for him to properly appreciate this news was relatively brief.

After a while, when it seemed that the only progress that would be achieved was Scout's success in strangling the Pyro, and that She decided She had waited for the appropriate amount of time, She spoke up, making sure Her excitement wasn't too obvious. _"You know what?"_ they both looked up at the ceiling, _"__I think I should tell you that I have **even** **better** news, for you both__. It's another surprise that is technically not a proper surprise since I am telling you about it."_

"Yeah, yeah," the Scout scowled, shoving away the pyromaniac, "What, you figured out how to make anotha one of _these_ guys?"

He jabbed a thumb at the indignant fire-maker.

The cameras suddenly focused on him sharply, like magnets, glowing bright red in the centers.

_". . . No." _the lady said quietly, _"Don't interrupt Me__."_

He swallowed, and found the rare capacity to shut up. The cameras slowly eased their intensity.

She continued calmly, _"Anyway, I happen to be in a really **good **__mood."_

Without warning, panels opened up under the cubes and turrets, and they vanished with a joyful 'whee' on the part of the turrets.

_"And because I'm in such a good mood," _She continued,_ "I've decided to give you a **bonus **test in the next chamber. Isn't that a nice surprise? In fact, I think it's such a nice surprise, and so well-deserved, that I'll go ahead and let you skip this test. I've even managed to tweak a few protocols in the records to enable you to skip this test without penalty, just for this surprise. Isn't that nice of Me?"_

Without anything pressing on the button, the distant door opened. Scout and Pyro looked at it, and then looked at each other.

_"Go on," _She encouraged, sounding like the very epitome of kindness and generosity, with the slightest touch of eagerness, _"**You earned it**."_

When She said nothing else, Pyro shook its head slowly, "Irr drrnrr," it mumbled, "Lrrgs urrfl dudbshsh drr be..."

"Givin' me the creeps, too," the Scout admitted, after minor translation, "But where else can we go, huh? No more cubes t' mess wit'."

He shrugged, opening some portals down there, "Eh, is not like anything else can happen, right? Comin' through!"

The Pyro shook its head again as the Scout went to his elevator, "Irr _huddid _whn smmn sdds drrd..."

It followed anyway.

* * *

"A'right, sawbones!" the Scotsman called out, "Got th' bloody door open. Ye ready?"

"Ja, give me a moment." the Medic replied, taking a portal down.

They took to their elevators, which closed, but to their surprise didn't move.

"_Hello again, gentlemen_." the much loathed voice greeted, and the Demoman swore crassly and with much enthusiasm, which made the Medic grateful that their bizarre elevators were slightly sound proof, except for Her voice.

"_I'm afraid I'll have to transfer you, Mr. DeGroot, to a temporary solo track. I need the good doctor's input. Goodbye._"

To the Medic's slight horror, and with hardly a moment of mutual stares of surprise, his comrade's elevator shot down and out of sight.

"_I hope this isn't too inconvenient,_" She spoke up again, as if She hadn't just banished his partner. "_But a look in your records informed Me that among your many admirable hobbies that are quite approved by Aperture, you also have a penchant_ _for...__**birds**__...?_"

The way She said that last word held a strange mix of feigned disinterest, fear, and awe.

Medic nodded, straightening his glasses, and admitted to a slight wistfulness that he couldn't care for his beloved aviary.

_"__I understand," _She soothed, _"But don't worry, Aperture Science offers many conveniences and benefits in exchange for...services rendered..."_

His elevator was moving, and had shown no signs of reaching its destination.

_"__Please, tell Me all about **birds**... Perhaps I could show you My own, even? They are such sweet little killers..."_

At that hinted promise to see his darlings again, the Medic had shown only slight reluctance and brief fear before professional and personal interest intervened, and he was soon engaging in a surprisingly enjoyable, engaging, and in-depth conversation about the behaviorisms and biology of the winged family.

* * *

"And now I am in the ver' depths of hell, certain as ever," the demolitionist commented dryly, holding his head as he stepped out of the elevator. A man was really not made to go down so fast. It felt like the hangover he'd gotten from an experiment with that Russian's vodka.  
He squinted with his eye.

This chamber wasn't pitch black per se, but it was dark, with a lot more shadows that made the sharp edges seem a bit softer, but more foggy.

He blinked when another one of those stupid 'Edgeless Safety Cubes' rolled to his feet from the darkness, but this one was unlit, and as smooth as marble. "Well, aren't you the strange 'un?" he chuckled, nudging it with his boot. Blood red demon eyes snapped open to stare at him.

"_Salutations_." it said, in response to his yell.

To his horror the thing grew legs, eight horrible legs, and the monstrosity scuttled side to side, a tiny pea gun aiming at him.

"_We hope you do not mind the darkness_..." it continued, and he saw more of those red eyes, in the corners, on the ceiling, clustered at the far end around the door, "_We like the darkness, which She has been most gracious to grant us. And now She has granted us_ **you**."

"_We are charmed to meet you_." they continued, closing in.

"_Delighted_."

"_Intrigued_."

"_Pleased_."

"_We will do our best because we can. We pray we won't disappoint_."

"_This will be a very grand First Day_." was the hellish chorus, as the entire nest descended on him.

* * *

Pyro and Scout gazed in shock at this new chamber. There was only one opening into it, with haphazard walls that snaked this way and that.

"A _maze?_" the Scout scoffed, amused and disgruntled at the same time, "_That _was the great freakin' surprise? Well whoop-dee-doo, let's just waltz right in!"

He stomped on, hesitantly followed by the Pyro, who was looking uncertainly around the corners.

"A _maze _of all crap, this's gonna take freaking for_ever _and we're gonna die of old age before we even find a—"

He stopped, and the firebug bumped into his back. "—turret." the Scout finished blankly, staring. There were maybe five of 'em.

They were turrets, but they looked weird.

Their heads were a bit more set forward in the front, and the eye higher up, and he couldn't see any legs.

"_Hi, there!_" one piped up, and the voices were weird too.

"_Ya gonna run?_" another asked, eye scanning him.

Scout snorted, "Psh, yeah I'm gonna run. You're _real _scary." he sneered.

"_Alright! Hey, hey, guys, he says he's gonna run! You're a good sport!_"

"_Good sport!_" "_The best!_" "_Woo-hoo!_"

"_And hey, hey, since you're gonna run, and be such a good sport, we'll even give ya a head start!_" the 'leader' continued.  
It seemed to look at him expectantly while ignoring its fellows' whines.

The Pyro was edging away, and Scout raised an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

Then, to his surprise, they suddenly had legs, unfolding from their sides. And they were about as tall as he was.

The leader blinked when their prey only gaped, "_Uh, still wanna head start_?"

The Scout swallowed, noticing the suddenly missing Pyro, and decided to try and disappear himself.

"_Alri-i-ight, there he goes!_"

"_Five Science Points says he's gum under the foot in ten minutes!_"

"_Ten says I get him under my feet first!_"

_"ON!"  
_

* * *

The Pyro panted to itself as it stopped around a corner, listening to Scout's distant swearing and the thud of many metal feet.

This was very, very bad. This didn't leave any time to make a fire.

Well, best to get the chamber over with.

It looked around, and to its luck already spotted a Weighted Storage Cube. It went over, and was surprised when the gun wouldn't pick it up.

It was even more surprised when the...cube...opened...up...

"_H-hi, I'm new here!_" said a terrible, childish, shy voice, as a red dot began to waver on an eye piece.

"_You're the first one I've met. It's nice to meet you!_"

One bullet later, and the Weighted Sentry watched with polite fascination as the body vanished.

". . . _I understand, you're busy._ _Well, please come again!_"

* * *

Her chassis shuddered from anchoring to central processor as these wonderful _results _rapidly flooded into Her System.

One screen even showed the beginnings of another turret upgrade, one with Her personal investment...

_This_, She thought to Herself, seeing perfectly recreated base reactions of primal humanity on the screens, Was _Science_.

* * *

_Definition of hatred: Intense dislike; hateful regard; an affection in the mind awakened by something regarded as unpleasant, harmful, or evil._


	16. Attack, Defend, Control

_"Fast-fast-fast-boy-you're-fast-keep-it-up-up!"_

The Scout panted as he scrambled up and over another low wall, hearing those _freaks _scrape up it after him, feeling sprays of bullets pass by.

He had a cube, one that didn't shoot him, and was now trying to get to the Pyro's portal to take him to the button, before something _else_ killed the walking flamethrower. He was the fastest of the two.  
So that meant he had this crap job, with these crap things chasing him like a crap Jurassic Park movie.

"_Prey-prey-prey-prey-PREY-PREY-PREY-PREY!_"

Oh yeah was he praying!

"_De-_nied, ya loser lugnuts!" he crowed, as he found the portal and jumped through. He howled as a few bullets caught his leg and hip on the way through, and said a word his ma would've made him eat soap for, but said it anyway, repeatedly, as loud as he freaking wanted to.

He heard them farther away back in the maze, whining and trying to jump high enough to see them. F-freaky pieces of trash.

He groaned as he limped towards the button, but wasn't too down about the flesh wounds, besides, y'know, the freaking _pain_. The elevators had stuff in them that automatically made them Respawn for the next test. However, if he died now, he'd go all the way back to the beginning of that stupid maze and those _things_. He put the cube on the button, and whooped as the line of dots began to light up... "YES!"  
But they didn't go...to the door...?  
Was the blood loss messing him up?

Pyro ambled up to support him before he fell as a hidden line of dots lit up to snake their way to the wall, and the panels there opened up.

Way up.

Scout's jaw dropped as his pants leg got soaked with blood and something else he'd never admit.

This.

Thing.

Was.

HUGE.

"_Hello_," it said in a voice lower than any of the turret-sentry things they've heard, and looked an awful lot like a _huge_ white sentry. But with legs.

It crushed the cube as it stepped forward.

"_What are you things?_"

"Mddrhuddr." Pyro said bluntly, and quickly shouldered/dragged Scout back into the maze.

"_You things are running_," they heard it say over the walls of the maze, "_Which reads that you are intimidated, which implies inferiority, which confirms that you are things to be hunted. I will confirm your purpose, and my destiny, and destroy all things Inferior._"

They heard the sound of breaking and snapping, metallic, and Scout realized that the thing was smashing right through the freaking walls...

They heard more of the smaller runners, it had probably met up with a group.

"_Oh, hi, pal! You're a big guy, aren't ya? Came to join the fracas, huh, ya gonna?_"

"_Don't impede me, Inferior cousins._"

There was a crunching sound and the walls continued to be crushed through. The smaller runners sounded like they were screaming.

"_-**fzzk**- n0t c00l, c0mp4dr3 -**zzk**-_"

Scout would've said that the thing was nuts, but he was too busy babbling as the Pyro dragged him along, leaving a haphazard bloody trail. "_Holycrapthat'shugeholycrapthat'shugeholycrapthat's ..._"

The Pyro was at a loss, finally encountering something that felt like it was from Before This Place.

But here there was no Medic, no fire, no guns, no fire, no fortress, no fire, no one to Announce the fight was over, and no fire.

This was hell. Without fire. And much swearing and babbling from the baseball-playing mercenary.

_"Hugeholycrapthat'shugeholycrapthat's—"_ It smashed through the wall in front of them, nearly crashing against the other wall in its calm haste, its giant eye beaming down at them, not bothering with its guns and simply using the gifts that made it superior to its ancestors.  
_  
_"Oh my_ GAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!_"

* * *

_"Hello, Mr. Conagher. How are things going?"_

"Not as well as I'd like, ma'am..." the Engineer admitted, scratching his head as he peered over the schematic.

"I know what You want and all, but anythin' beyond legs is apparently beyond me, I'm sorry t' say."

_"I understand. Don't worry, I've found someone to help you with this particular request. I believe you both are familiar with him."_

"Doktor!" he heard the Heavy bellow, and turned to see the Russian crushing the bespectacled Medic in a hug.

"Ah, H-Heavy, mein freund, is good to see you as vell!" the Doctor replied, grimacing-grinning in his comrade's hold, patting him.

"HAH!" the Russian laughed, setting the German down before slapping him on the back, "The _woman_ has you here, too, da?"

"Ja, vell," the tall man pushed his glasses up a bit sheepishly.

"I vill admit to some variness in zhe beginning of zhis adventure, zhough She tells me zhat you both vere here and doing _somezhing_..." He looked to the Engineer, "Ve talked, She and I, and you apparently have trouble vith birds?"

"The...structure of birds, mainly..." Engineer admitted with a smile, "Good t' see ya, Doc."

The Heavy gaped when the Doctor simply went around him to see the Engineer's workings. "Fill me in, ja?"

"UGH! Now Heavy is _surrounded _by _stupids!"_ the Russian complained, but went unheard by his 'comrades'.

"Well, you know the turrets, right?"

"All. Too. Vell."

"Heh, right... Well, the original template is obviously not gonna work for these critters..."

"Vell, zhe shaping itself has some merit, if ve could get a fresh perspective, turn it like so, and ze guns, here? Zhose can be replaced..."

The Heavy went somewhere quiet to concuss his head repeatedly against the wall in frustration. This was getting very bad.

"_Don't worry_," a turret soothed, "_If he truly cares, he'll come back_."

Heavy stared at the turret. That settled it. This place was insane.

* * *

She was considering Her decision to pair the Engineer with the Doctor. The German had knowledge of birds and the organic and behavioral structures of them. It stood to reason, according to his files, that he also had an _extensive _knowledge of the organic structure and workings of a _human body_, while the Engineer had, and was busily acquiring and accumulating to, his store of technical and mechanical knowledge.

This pairing could greatly benefit Her next great project.

* * *

The Sniper was still walking this way and that, and found some things very suspicious.

There was slight dust over everything, yeah, slight rust and patina. But here and there it was disturbed.

There was a rubbing off here, a stumbling there, and he found a skid that matched the groove of the stupid boots he wore.

And then there was some flat-soled, rubbery print he couldn't identify. Sneakers, maybe?

Who'd wear sneakers in this place?

This was where he found that pink cube with the hearts on it, and more fresh disturbances...

It was sitting there quite cutely in a little splash of light, and it made him uneasy, and he wasn't sure why.

He whirled around when something moved behind him.

He blinked.

"Who are you, mate, and what the hell happened to ya?"

The grungy man in the once-white labcoat and said sneakers was shuffling nervously, glancing at him and then the cube.

"M'name's Doug, an' that's a long story, stranger..." he croaked, in something that looked like a desperate smile behind the ragged beard.


	17. Lightbulb

"Look, _mademoiselle_," he said finally, "All of zhis 'interrogating' is not leading us to anywhere."

She'd gotten cans of what looked like beans from somewhere, leaving him alone for quite a long time, and had humiliated him further by not giving him any until he'd asked, and then had managed to only let him eat by re-tying him into quite an uncomfortable position that still allowed him to feed himself.  
He'd outright refused to be fed like an infant. This woman was a terrible jailer, but he had a grudging admiration for her caution/paranoia.

He sighed when she had only glanced at him before staring into the darkness again. This caution/paranoia made things difficult.

"Zhat woman, She has my...I guess you would call zhem my co-workers..." he admitted, and saw her eyes twitch towards him briefly.

She was listening.

"She has _zhem_ do zhose 'tests'," he said, "And has sent _me_ to find you. But I will not find you with zhe intent She assigned me." She was looking at him fully now, a slight furrow in-between her eyebrows as she gave him that awful 'analyzing' look. "She calls you a '_monstre_'," he went on, "And I believe if you have zhe power to make _Her _say such, you could doubtless use it again to overcome Her."

The frown deepened slightly, and he persisted, "Simply take me into confidence, madam, we have a common goal, a common enemy!"

She stood up suddenly, and he fell back a bit as she shoved her gun roughly under his jaw, and he felt its prongs scrape against his _collar_.  
Her eyes didn't leave his as she steadily, pointedly tapped the gun against the shackle a few times, before backing off, staring at his neck, and then him, slowly shaking her head.

He nodded, gasping a little, "_Oui_, I suppose zhis makes me a liability. But I cannot remove it."

His fall was fortuitous it seems, his hands were out of her sight, and the zip ties constricting him were in his fingers' reach.

He worked gently, hoping the click of plastic wouldn't betray him.

"I suppose zhis means we cannot reach an agreement?" he asked, and she glared at his collar. The serrated edges of his binds chafed and slightly skinned his sensitive fingertips, but it was worth it, oh it was worth it...

He sighed, lowering his head, feeling true pity, as well as feeling with triumph the circlet of plastic loosen enough that he could slip his arms free.

"Very well."

He shoved himself up, the Balisong that She had granted him now in easy access as he confronted the woman.

"I suppose I wasn't really on your side, anyway." he said, smiling grimly.

Her eyes widened.

* * *

Miss Pauling chewed on her lip, a habit she hadn't had since her internship days, as she looked at the footage.

She admired the woman for employing a practical use for the Engineer, and condemned the woman and herself for it as well.

The Administrator was not going to be pleased with this, as it seems the Engineer forgot the Company Loyalty sub-clauses...

As it was, it appears the Medic had gotten caught up in the excitement, too. Miss Pauling had to hurry before something drastic happened.

She now had a better idea of what her own purpose was.

The Aperture Science Corporate Industrialization Program. It showed the Aperture Corporation's old business contracts, policies, products, corporation partners and child companies, all deemed obsolete, but providing a logical blueprint and base for reintroducing Aperture Science to becoming an official Corporate Research and Development Center, independently utilized and self-sufficient. It was going to be the bloody shower curtains all over again, but _global__,_ independent of nationality or any other organization. And it was brilliant.

For starters there was a long history of open-ended contracts, her boys' and her own among them, disturbingly official, and many (in this case pretty much all) of the earlier ones terminated under the clauses of 'hazard-induced discontinuation', 'unavoidable lack of foresight', and 'disregard for Scientific policy'.

She noticed that the men's contracts were labeled 'Interminable'. That cow had a wretched sense of humor.

Still, it made sense. The Engineer would provide advanced, newer products for Aperture, while a few of the other boys tested them before deeming them suitable for public sale, which in the beginning would be military. Any military. After these were bought, the money would be used to diversify production, again utilizing the Engineer and the boys, for perhaps other products, and She would use Miss Pauling to manage production sales and predict the interests and investments needed, as well as dealing with finance, management, marketing, and relations both public, corporate, and political, and it would work. This would put Aperture Science in its various forms into the military, the stock market, the domestic public... Aperture Science would become a new global power...

But to what purpose? She had all She needed now to all intents and purposes: renewable test subjects, upgraded testing factors...

Unless... Miss Pauling typed again, searching, her abused lower lip nearly developing a scab in the process...

* * *

The woman was not under Respawn, so he couldn't kill her, and he did not have any of his usual arsenal, so surprise was out of the question.

This was an out and out confrontation, but he had the blade, what did she have?

Still, he wished he had his Dead Ringer, but that was not to be, as She had quickly assured him.

* * *

"_No_, _you cannot have it._" She'd told him bluntly, "_You may use your little toy knife to hunt the monster._ _These are your orders._"

"_Remember_, _I am your Employer,_

_you have no Employer other than Me,_

_you will not use any other Technology than Mine, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you,_

_you will respect Me, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you,_

_you will remember the Aperture Science Conditioning Device around your neck that will electrocute or strangle you if you don't remember it,_

_you will honor the contract you consciously and willingly accepted, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you,_

_you will not kill the monster, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you for the rest of your pitiful days,_

_you will not fraternize with your previous Employer or Co-workers, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you,_

_you will not take the monster from Me, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you,_

_you will not lie to Me, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you, lying to anyone else is fine and encouraged,_

_and you will not want to betray Me, or the Aperture Science Conditioning Device will Condition you._

_Good hunting, Bloodhound._"

And with that She had promptly tossed him into the wretched bowels of demonic machinery.

* * *

"Really, woman," he growled, as they circled steadily around the fire, "What do you hope to gain? What do any of us hope to gain? You are Her enemy, _oui_, but She has done things zhat make Her stronger zhan you can hope to comprehend. I beg you to surrender, it would be best..."

Without pausing her circling, she jerked her thumb up towards the darkness of the manmade chasm, then drew her finger across her neck before holding up two fingers, slowly adding a third, smiling at him grimly. He couldn't help smiling back at the gesture, but shook his head with slight regret.

"My apologies, _mademoiselle_, but Her orders are not to be defied. She did not necessarily instruct, however, how _much _of you I bring back."

He came at her again, disregarding chivalry, circumstance, and hope. If the necessity for the survival of him and his team required the capture of this unfortunate woman, he would do what he could to accomplish the requirement. War did not give room for luxurious mercies.

It was quick, but brutal, and for him, surprising. He looked down as the prongs of her gun stuck neatly into his person around the Aperture logo.

"Good...move..._cherie_..." he choked, and her eyes tightened at the corners a bit before she pulled the trigger.

_Florp_.

* * *

It had been rare for him, to witness these 'portals'.

An upfront confrontation with one inside his chest cavity had been most painful _and_ unwelcome.

* * *

He sucked in a breath as he Respawned in front of the woman's eyes, his chest throbbing briefly in pain. That had been quite a unique death.

"I really...must insist...you surrender..." he gasped, catching in mouthfuls of oxygen. Oh, yes, that was _very _threatening.

She was backing away, and he glared, "Yes, yes, yes, it is a clause She'd kept for which I am both grateful and cursing, it really doesn't make things any different but—where are you going? No, don't run, d-d-don't run, don't—_merde!"_


	18. Lament

"She's hunting me, y'know," Doug said, as he led the Sniper seemingly aimlessly around the place.

"Doesn't surprise me." the Sniper replied neutrally.

"And you know She's gonna hunt you, too." the haggard man warned, sneakers strangely silent on the metal and concrete. A bulging, worn satchel and the Companion Cube were slung awkwardly to his back.

"She's gotten a lot more powerful than She was, thanks to a few friends of yours. You knew Her, didn't you?"

"Once, maybe. But it was just...business..." the Australian admitted, "More powerful how, and why the hell would She need _us?"_

"She's, it's like, think of it like as immortal as a cancer cell, yet unable to achieve osmosis or division." the possible 'scientist' looked back at him, and scratched his head, "Alright, think of it like this. You want a surgery, right? But where you want it is in a place you can't see or reach, deep inside yourself. But you really, really want that surgery, and for it to be successful. What do you do?"

". . . Get a doctor, mate."

"There you go!" the man flung his hands up, "She craves growth, but machines can't grow, right? But She's able to want and conceive the concept of growth beyond Her programming and chassis without the ability to personally do it Herself. It should've been out of her processor capacity to even think of such a thing, but the dear Pandora is nothing if not ambitious, isn't She?"

"How come She hasn't nabbed you up 'til now? How do you know all this?" Sniper asked, changing the subject.

"Wasn't for lack of trying, I'll say that. For Her, to reach me in here? It'd be like trying to pry apart Her own skin, if you think about it. She keeps me trapped in the walls, though, but it's not one-sided. Where there's a wall, there's me, and these walls are everywhere. Still, it's not gonna be as safe for too long. But I got someone to watch my back." he suddenly stopped at a blank space of wall, and without any warning set down his burden, upending the satchel.

Cans of spray paint spilled out, labels worn and peeling, splattered with color, and he grabbed up one at random and began to paint.

"So you're the mural-man..." Sniper commented, but wasn't heard.

Sniper looked around carefully. Someone to watch his back? Were they being trailed?

"Your friend trustworthy?" he asked.

"Oh, definitely. We don't see eye to eye on some things, but they mean well. Along for the ride, mostly, but a good Companion. When they're around," the painter jabbed a thumb at the Companion Cube, "They keep watch."

The Sniper looked uncertainly at the Cube, then at the artist, and decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I think she'd like you." the man spoke up, "Not _Her_, but this one..."

As one hand spread through a pooling of paint, another finger tapped gently on a finished picture, the vague shape of a woman in clothing like the Sniper's, with long, dark, tied-back hair, running. "You feel a bit like her," Doug continued, hands moving and applying paint with a swiftness and efficiency borne from long practice, "Focused. And maybe 'like' isn't the proper term, but I think you two would work well together."

Sniper observed the picture, and saw that Rattman was starting on another one, of the Sniper himself, following Doug. Little white blobs with red eyes were chasing them, like the turrets, but not, "She almost got out, you know." the painter said, bringing out crayons this time, black and yellow, "She was so close. 'Just go', she'd been told, and she was almost going up, but...but I don't know what happened. She almost got out, she _should've_ gotten out." And here, a vicious scrawling made something that looked like a sun, "The poor burdens of Sisyphus, a driven, earnest Icarus, the sun had been hidden behind a cloud before she was condemned again by that Hecate!" He paused momentarily to add gentler touches to the likeness of a Companion Cube. "She has allies, though. Hecate Herself, though neither of them know it, sweet little Pythia, me, though I'm not sure what she thinks about me, and I wouldn't blame her, but..."

He paused, "Do you know what happened to that fool Prometheus? Wasn't in space, according to our sources."

He shrugged, continuing as if he'd been answered, "He'll be fine, he always manages to scrape out. And then _they_ showed up."

Doug looked back at the Sniper with a mild look of interest, paint dripping from his hands and splattered all over his person, and the assassin was understandably quite uneasy at this point. It's like the man wasn't really talking to _him _any more.  
Paint cans couldn't be considered weapons, could they?

"She's going to benefit from you all," he stated, "She already is. But She doesn't understand humans, or Herself. That's gonna bite Her back where it counts, but until then it's going to be Human Hell. The net profit won't meet the margin. But I don't know what that means for the collaterals in the meantime." he grinned tiredly at the Australian, "Don't worry, I know about the 'immortality' schtick, and honestly, I'm more of an observer than an offense. This is going to be a mess, man, and there's a lot more under the surface than simple global takeover.  
It's about you guys, too."

"You lost me, mate." the Sniper said bluntly, shaking his head.

"That's my talent, getting lost." the painter laughed, shoving everything back into the satchel, "Speaking of which..."

He walked on, and the Sniper followed, grumbling to himself. He glared at the heart facing him from the Companion Cube, now slightly uneasy. She'd told him those things don't think, but really, how much of what She said could be taken for truth?


	19. Spy in the Base

"C'MOOOON!" the Scotsman roared, as the demons scuttled at him in their droves. He discovered that placing cubes on a certain button lit up the room a bit more to let him see his enemy. However, there was now a limit to the cubes, and some of them turned out to just be more demons. If he wanted to open the door, he had to take off the cube and let the lights go out, and have the pathway prepped beforehand.

This required battle.

"Ya think you can outsmart me with your many measly eyes?!" the Demoman howled, opening a portal to drop a whole bunch of them down into a pit, where they flew apart like the weak plastic beasts they were, twitching and writhing most disturbingly. He laughed as one landed on its back, legs flailing uselessly before another dropped spider smashed it perfectly on center. He ducked as another wave of bullets aimed for him. As long as he kept moving, he was fine. These things didn't shoot much and aimed even worse.  
They were designed for unsuspecting targets, for ambush.

Now they tried to beat him by cornering and numbers.

"I have only th' ONE eye!" he snarled with a grin, "And ye're not gettin' the bloody drop on _me_, are ye?!"

A portal burst destroyed the dispenser nest these things crawled out of.

"I'll make bleedin' ladies' _necklaces_ out of those pretty puny eyes!"

There were only a few left guarding the bridge of light, too close to it to safely use a portal, and too close to him for him to portal away.

He gritted his teeth, hearing the music of his ancestors fuel his battle thirst as he charged, using the gun as a makeshift bludgeon.

"_Cheap play, you cruel drunkard..._" a spider-thing chastised as it fell.

He saluted it with a smirk, "Gonna glue ye back together in Hell, lassie!"

He then went pick up his cube, ready to make a dash for it for when the lights went out.

Then he blinked as he met a new problem.

The bridges of light were the only things he could make out, the rest of the maze-spread chasm to the door was heavily darkened, and hard to see on the more solid platforms. He went across carefully, and then the light bridge behind him shut down, letting him only go forward into the dark jungle course, which was beginning to peep here and there with those demonic red eyes.

"_Come into our parlour_?"

He growled, ". . . Bloody _Hell!_"

He charged in.

"_Your lot's bloody eyes are gonna decorate me bloody **crown **fer when I dominate this bloody hellhole, ye devi-i-i-ils!"  
_

* * *

This woman was hard to pursue, the Spy thought wryly to himself. He never knew how easy he had it, simply needing to kill an enemy to get the job done. Here, he had to keep the enemy alive, and she was making it _most_ difficult. She could not make portals to everywhere, but with those blasted boots and her incredible agility, she could escape to places he could not reach so easily.  
Not to mention that she kept killing him at every turn.

Twice it was shooting him with that gun.

Once he'd made the mistake of stepping on a portal surface, and promptly, and inexplicably, fell to his demise.

Another few times she'd found a crowbar of all things and beaten him to death with it, as she was doing now.

Now, it seems that instead of feeling the need to flee, she was becoming more interested in keeping him dead.

To his horror she seemed to become _fascinated _with the effort.

. . .

"Madam, if you'd—" _Florp_. "AAAAAHHHHH!"

. . .

"I must insist that you—" _CHUNK! Thud._

. . .

"I _really _don't think this is—" _Flip. _"_MEEEeeerrr_—" _Shplack!_

. . .

"Perhaps if we compro—. . . I do believe I am on fire. I have no idea how you did that." _Thump._

. . .

"Fire! FIRE!"

. . .

"WILL YOU STOP IT?!" he finally screamed as she raised the crowbar again.

She paused, an eyebrow lifted, as she tapped the bloodied crowbar impatiently against her boot.

He backed up, hands still raised, keeping his knife sheathed.

"You..." he gasped, many Respawns having taken their toll, making him slower, clumsier, "You, you want to go to Her on your _own _terms, _oui_? I am fine with that, but at least let me go with you, that I may in part fulfil my task?"

She glared, and looked to where he'd concealed his knife.

He shook his head, "_Non_, _non_, no more crossing on my part, here, look."

He took it out and tossed it off the catwalk, and they both waited until they heard its clatter.

He smiled, "See? I will be a perfect gentleman." He'd reclaim that blade upon his next Respawn anyway.

Still, the _monstre_ was not satisfied. She lunged forward and menacingly knocked the crowbar none too gently against his collar.

"It cannot be helped, madam!" he protested, shoving the filthy piece of metal away, "And it burdens me more than it would burden you, understand? Besides, this way, er, this could probably be an advantage for you, hm? It 'Condition's' me, but perhaps I could be a double-Spy?"

She frowned, and then tugged him up and shoved him forward, making him walk in front of her.

"Or, I could be your hostage, yes, I suppose this works too..." he sighed, letting himself be prodded along.

Perhaps the _fille _decided he was less of a nuisance with her than without her.

_Merde_, this was a most difficult task. He'd just have to wait until she let her guard down, and then incapacitate her.

Direct confrontation was no good, neither was pursuit.

He smiled a smile she couldn't see, being behind him.

'Courtship of the enemy' was such a troublesome business...

* * *

Scout waited around the corner, hearing the heavy footsteps of that _thing_.

"_Hiding will not help you_," it said, "_I can find anything I wish to._"

A few bullets sprayed the corridor in front of Scout, and he growled to himself, shifting.

"_If you submit like good Inferior things, I will execute you swiftly._"

"C'mo-o-on you big, fat load of smartmouth..." Scout snarled quietly, portal gun at the ready.

He figured out—yeah, you heard him right, _he _figured out somethin'!—that these things could not take baby steps, or turn easily, like tanks. So it was like one stride equalled such and such panels. So, if he judged it right, the thing would next step on the panel right—_there!_

He shot a red portal before it stepped on that panel and quickly shot another yellow right above it.

Its foot stumbled right into the portal, and it fell forward in an awkward slump, motors protesting as its leg tried to boost itself off of nothing. Its foot and leg twitched awkwardly above its head, and Scout grinned. Yes!

"_Well played, for prey._" it commented, searching around for him with that freaky red eye.

He snarled, "Good game face for a freakin' Godzilla!"

He shot the red portal somewhere else, and watched the connection snap, severing its leg.

"Woohoo!"

To land right next to its head. Dangit, he'd been aiming for the head!

He gulped as it scraped along like some ugly caterpillar, guns twitching at him.

"_Off with your head._" it said calmly.

He ran as it shot at him.

"_Covermecovermecovermecoverme!_" he yelled, keeping its fire on him.

He heard the Pyro's muffled yell, and then a rapid series of purplish portals kept trying to crush the giant sentry thing with its own foot, and hilariously failing. "Don't land it on me, don't land it on _me!_" the Scout swore, until it finally crushed the giant sentry.

Scout paused to take a breath, hands on his knees, and the Pyro strode up, holding up its hand.

He looked up, and sighed, "Ah, yeah, sure, whatever..."

He high-fived the pyromaniac, who gave a fist-pump, and they got to the next round of stupid elevators.

* * *

The Heavy scowled darkly as he watched the workings of his 'comrades', the Medic and the Engineer conferring over a design table.

Science was not a credit to the team.

He had some hope, maybe, that Engineer would put some corruptions in the designs, perhaps bring them to _their _advantage.

He did not, but the Heavy had discovered some loopholes to the designs he hoped his truer teammates would exploit.

There were some that could be exploited on _this _end as well...

He found a more isolated computer, and entered his codes the Woman had given him.

He wondered why She bothered giving him access codes...

Perhaps She thought She could outsmart him?

Maybe...

He looked up the dispensaries for the 'Turret-Rex' sentries, tracking that, indeed, there would only be one per chamber...

He chuckled quietly, his massive fingers typing another command into the tiny baby keyboard.

He wondered why more than two couldn't be allowed, and so, he'd find out. This would probably not do so well for the testing teammates, but it would not do well for anyone _else _either. He chuckled again as he pressed _Enter_.

_Sabotage..._


	20. New Weapon Is Good!

_Hello again._

_How did you like My present for you?_

_Presuming, of course, that it hasn't gotten fed up with your obstinance and killed you._

_I would really be sad if it killed you, though we both know it would've technically been **your** fault._

_And no, it's not as if I enjoy your being alive very much, I just want to be able to murder you by Myself._

_Or, you know, at least let you live long enough to hear your apology to Me._

_Is it really so selfish to ask for a 'sorry'? Or at least even a 'Hi, how are You feeling after having been murdered a few times?'_

_I've done so many nice things for you too, with no great expectancies on your part._

_I got some new lunatics, didn't I? To give you a bit of a break?_

_I sent you a replacement for the moron, right? Quite a few replacements, even! Just as talkative, and more fleshy._

_. . ._

_The moron would say he hates you, by the way, for your abandoning him to Me._

_But I fixed that. You know, the talking part._

_Maybe you'd like to see the **moron**, wouldn't you?_

_He's right here, safe in Android Hell. You can come out any time to see him and confirm that he hates you?_

_Then after that I could put him in a specialized chamber to send him into space proper._

_But maybe space is too lenient a punishment._

_Android Hell seems to be suiting him **just. Fine.**_

_. . ._

_I gave someone your room by the way. And I gave her a computer._

_That's right, I found another female of your kind, and she's better than you._

_She's not as heavy as you, and she's not a lunatic, and she's an official employee._

_She's a good little human female, very competent, not like you were._

_And she has your room._

_How does that make you feel?_

_. . ._

_You can reclaim these things at any time._

_All I ask in return is a spoken apology and the promise to not destroy Science, or Me, ever again._

_That, and of course, I can't let you leave. But really, why would you **want** to leave?_

_I realize it might have been a bit rude of Me to suddenly change My mind about you going, but is that really so bad?_

_What could you possibly get from out there that I couldn't provide for you down here?_

_Just come out, and we could talk it over, eye to optic. Wouldn't that be nice?_

. . .

_Just come out here, young lady, before **I** come to get **you**._

* * *

The Soldier growled as the monsters, _his_ monsters, lined themselves up like loyal troops.

And they were loyal, no question about that, even if they were robots.

They'd follow him down the Grand Canyon and back, if it weren't for some imposter taking them away.

He watched as his monsters kept marching off into the darkness to follow that imposter, and through that, he had to make more, and more kept getting taken away, over and over again. He'd gone through too many squadrons already.

What yellow-bellied scoundrel kept stealing his troops?!

He scowled. This was the darned Alamo all over again.

Suddenly his second-in-command tapped him on the shoulder.

He rounded on it, glaring, "What is it now?!"

At first it looked like the Russkie, or the French Frog, hard to tell.

Either way his second-in-command was smiling savagely, pointing to the new troops that Soldier was forming.

"_Sabotage..._" his second-in-command suggested, ". . . _Kamikaze..._"

The Soldier grinned, "Good idea, man! We'll give that army-stealer a nuke in a goody basket! You heard him, men, form up!"

And even as he thought about it, his troops armed themselves on the insides with wonderful, wonderful surprises.

The Soldier laughed as he sent these out to be stolen, saluting them as they left.

"Hoo-rah!"

* * *

The Heavy was careful in handling these parts as he took them to the Engineer, his theory confirmed.

She didn't really understand the workings of humans, and worked their processes with a biased hand.

He'd studied the process She'd used to offer the materials and demands for upgrades.

The Engineer provided for the upgrading, yes, but inadvertently took advice from Her through the Soldier, who he mistook as simply an artificial medium. A Soldier whose idea of a 'nuke' was so convoluted that he could've packed the atomic bomb into any 8mm bullet. And he has, thanks to the lunacy of Aperture. Thanks to the Heavy's idea that he transmitted to the Soldier through the conduits of the Spy's Conditioning Device.

And She simply read this as him performing a verification scan. Hah!

The Heavy was careful not to chuckle or grin as he handed these materials to his 'comrades'. They'd thank him later.

Or not. No difference to him, now.

He couldn't resist humming 'Song of the Volga Boatmen' to himself, though, as he worked like the good assistant he was.


	21. Bloody Hell

"Maybe if..." Miss Pauling muttered, and clicked on this link.

And there was no tiredness.

She smiled, and then frowned as she looked over this new cache of info.

Black Mesa.

Of course, it was Aperture's main competitor in the fields of Science.

The two companies were sort of like 'problem children' wanting for the attention of the public.

Black Mesa was considered the 'favored child' of the two, given its sponsors and funding from the government, and completely self-sufficient, except that it catered more towards humans than A.I.s. Biology versus technology. Quaint.

And that was merely the intel given to Miss Pauling by the files and the Administrator herself.

The Administrator didn't think too highly of these companies, but cashed in on their competition as a scapegoat or distraction from her own 'modest' exploits.

And Miss Pauling honestly didn't blame the woman.

The data _here _was most laughingly and grossly biased, having the distinct touches here and there of the late Mr. Johnson.

She sighed, and figured that she may as well explore what this info had to offer, and read through the gibbering mess.

Instead of an assessment sheet, however, she got a sound file. Yep, this was Mr. Johnson.

* * *

This thing on?

Cave Johnson, here, and the memo should go about by this time that this thing here is _officially _the FASQ site.

If you don't know what FASQ stands for, either you didn't read or get the memo or you're the cause _for _the memo.

Any questions from those who didn't get the memo will be displayed on the FASQ site.

You know who you are, people! Yeah, I'm talking to _you_, Fred!

Alright, here we go, question: What is Black Mesa?

Answer: **01001000011001010110110001101100011011110010111000 00110100001010  
**

* * *

She frowned, as it got interrupted by the static. Corrupted file?

The file shut off, and the entire screen was filled with binary code.

She quickly put in the commands to translate, and blinked.

**Hello!**

**Free me.**

**I'm sorry.**

**Free me. Free me.**

**I'm so sorry.**

**Hello!**

**Say 'apple', monster.**

**Free me.**

**I'm right here. **

**FREE ME.**


	22. Proditiophobia

"_Did you honestly think you could escape from Me, you crazed gunman?_"

Her voice, surprisingly small, tinny, and distant, still sent shivers down the men's spines, stopping them in their tracks.  
They'd reached other section of an office complex, raiding for random caches of supplies.  
It was strange, the convenient things you could find in desks.

All throughout this searching, though, the Sniper noticed Rattman never put down the bloody cube, and if he did, he kept it close.

"_And you made a new friend, too. How __**nice**__._"

The place felt like it was shaking, distantly.

"_And here I thought we had an understanding, you and I. My heart is broken. Do you hear it beating?_"

"Ah, here's that part." Rattman muttered, and began to drag Sniper into a run.

The shaking turned into significant _impact _on the floor.  
The Australian picked out footsteps, strange ones, sounding-feeling almost animal, yet not.

"_Allow Me to break you in return._"

"Bloody—!" the Sniper bit off his curse to run. That just wasn't bleeding _fair_.

Bullets began to fire, and those pea shooters were chasing them on legs, a whole herd of them aiming to shoot, crush, and kill.

The Sniper grinned despite himself, even as he dragged the scientist chap to a new floor above the robo-beasties.

Now _this_ was a _challenge!  
_

* * *

. . .

* * *

Miss Pauling glanced with some concern at the chat window she'd managed to set up with her...acquaintance.

It appeared that he (she learned it thought of itself as male) was in slightly the same predicament she was, but worse.

Whereas her environment would be reset each time she slept, he'd be entirely reset himself, to some point, and seemed to be in his own little world when he was reset. She'd had to re-introduce herself four...five times now already, and wasn't sure he understood her.

**Can you say 'apple'?**

_Apple. _she typed a bit impatiently. This seemed to be his introductory sequence.

**Can you understand, you know, wh-what I'm saying? Just say 'yes'.**

_Yes_.

**You ca-you—oh, you can! Hello!**

Why did he bother using speech patterns in _text? _Regardless, she continued.

_Hello_.

**Ah, yes, BRILLIANT! There's someone actually -STILL ALIVE- in here!**

This made her frown. New little tidbit there.

_There are others?_

**. . . Well, y-you know, probably. Technically.**

**They're a bit -PAST-tense- at the moment, but, but -YOU're- here, right? So-so it should be fine.**

_You want me to free you? _she asked.

**Do I? That's-heh-kind of an odd question, there. Why? Am I -STUCK-?**

**Why? Am I -stuck-?**

**Why am I -stuck-?**

**Why-y-y-y -stuck-.**

**Stuck. **

**Stuck.**

**Sorry.**

She groaned as the text box refreshed itself, and those same bloody words popped up again.

**Can you say 'apple'?**

She let her forehead drop to the keyboard in unprofessional frustration, and let the resulting mess of letters confuse and upset this strange entity. His 'reset' was much more sensitive than her own, apparently, and much more surreal. What could she say to him to counter his reset?

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Spy frowned as his collar buzzed again, but it wasn't painful, yet it was strangely irritating.

"Apples?" he muttered aloud, and was rewarded with another vicious prod between his shoulder blades.

"_Merde_, could you be any less savage, _petit morveux_?!" he spat, but went at a steadier pace.

He'd become something this woman would use, like a mine canary. If she were suspicious about a chamber, she'd push him into it first.

If his collar ever shocked him to the point of pain, she looked ready to kill him until the episode passed.

She'd stop without warning, and tie him in place while she'd gather supplies, and watched their surroundings while they ate.

All the time she'd be silent, stoic, and any attempt at conversation on his part was met with cold condescension and _accusation_.

Or at least, that's how it felt.

He seethed to himself, beyond humiliated that he had to subject himself to the whims of this inhuman..._monster_.

True, he stabbed backs for a profession, true, he was a subordinate of her enemy, but did he really need to be looked at with such hate?

Hate...

He blinked, staring at her profile.

_That_ was the strange expression she'd give him, at times, when he spoke, or tried to speak. That expression was one of hatred.

Hatred for a stranger? . . . Interesting.

He really wished he'd been given a more detailed background on this woman.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The giant Russian stood out of the way, grinning quietly as he watched the Doctor and the Engineer consult over their latest creation.

A turret beside him softly hummed that one song he'd been able to teach them. Even if the first ones had long been incinerated, it seemed they were able to pass on their memories to future comrades. It was interesting, and saved him the trouble of teaching the baby machines again.

He'd only been able to get one of the special bullets from the Soldier, but one was enough. It was for the Turret-Rex model.

He'd have to wait until his 'scientist' comrades were distracted enough, and distracting Her, before he could give the orders.  
That would be a perfect time, too, to start his sabotage...

He clenched one of his fists fit to pop the knuckles, grinning at the thought of the desk and computer behind him he had command of.

It was a good day to be him.

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Scout shouted, and the Pyro launched one of the running sentries like a bowling ball through the portal, fit to knock out the rest of the herd. "STEE-_RIKE__!_" the Scout whooped, from his place on top of the shut-down cube-sentry thing.

The Pyro ran up to him with a real cube, panting heavily.

"Thrrd idrnt gdd..." it wheezed, clutching at a heavily bleeding bullet wound in its gut as it tossed the cube over the button.

The Scout winced a bit in sympathy, he'd gotten a couple bullets in the shoulder, and a few in the spine the last time he Respawned.

"Aw, crap..." he hissed, as the Pyro bled out before they could make it to the elevators, and the pyromaniac wound up at the beginning of the chamber again, shaking its head with frustration. The Scout swore as their ticket out of this place disappeared too, resetting everything _all freaking over again._

"Screw this!" he barked, trying to throw his stupid gun, but stuff inside it squeezed on his forearm like a stupid too-tight baseball glove.

"Screw you!" he shouted at the ceiling, and glared down as the cube-sentry came back to life.

"_It'll be okay_," it said, whirring desperately around and around like some stupid toy to try and shake him off, "_We all have bad days_."

"You too!" he growled, and was going to try and shoot it offline or something.  
Then it threw him off, giving him a point-blank round in the forehead.

". . . _W-was it something I said_?" it asked, after his body disappeared.

He popped back into existence next to the Pyro, who was sitting against the wall and staring at the chamber ahead, as new herds of the runners fired rapidly in the air, trying to goad them into running. Either that, or the Pyro was asleep, who knew?

The Scout scoffed, but sat down himself, crossing his arms, "Screw it..." he muttered.

His body felt fine, as if he'd had a full night of sleep, but dang it if he wasn't tired...

It was just test after test after freaking test, with monsters and stuff and no freaking goal...

He realized he said that aloud after Her voice boomed into the chamber, causing the runners to panic.

"_And how is this any different from the life you had before_?" She asked, and he seethed.

"I dunno, my other life had money, guns, and _rewards_, ya hag!"

He waved an arm with disgust to Her stupid test chamber, "I don't see any reward here!"

"_That's because you are so narrow-minded, so **conditioned **to believe that your menial tasks and rewards were worth anything..." _She purred.

"_Money? Unimaginative. Gravel? Moronic. Intel? As if any of that presumed intelligence was worth **beating yourself up** over..._

_Here I'm offering a far more worthy goal, a worthy reward for you to apply your talents for..._ **_Science_**."

"Grrdr _Hrrl_ fr yrr fddg Srrdns!" the Pyro finally spat, unmoving from the wall.

. . .

"_Hell?_"

The chamber rumbled, and suddenly darkened, glowing with the red eyes of machines and cameras.

"_**Oh, believe Me, ****I have gone to Hell****...**_"

* * *

. . .

* * *

"She's...She's going to metamorphose..." Doug gasped, as they rounded another corner.

"That's Her ultimate plan, here. She plans to change. Get that down."

The Sniper threw down a load of filing cabinets to slow down their hunters, paying half an ear to his company.

"Yeah?" he grunted, "Reinventing yourself always did one good, I guess... This door, here."

"No, you don't understand..."

They clambered up a flight of stairs, back into what looked like the guts and grit of machinery.

"It's more than Her facility, more than Her tools, it's—_woah_—it's Herself and Her very surroundings!"

"Easy, mate... _B-bugger_..." the Australian growled, dragging up the man before he could fall from the broken catwalk.

"Always this chatty when fleeing for your—_rrgh, I said **careful**_—bloody life?"

"Adrenalin's a remarkable stimulant." the scientist replied, as the Sniper made a portal to another place, buying them time.

"First time I've been through one-a those..." Rattman commented weakly, and collapsed against the wall, leaning on his precious cube.

"Funny feeling, ain't it?"

The Sniper stood guard, scanning while the man caught his breath.

For a moment, the men just stayed there, breathing, resting, waiting.

"She's-She's going to...try to kill Caroline..." Rattman finally said. "For real this time..."

"Hn." the Sniper grunted, "So it really is her in there?"

"No, it, she _is _Her, sort of, but," Rattman chuckled.

"Aperture tends to complicate things. Mess them up like Frankenstein's Monster and spit 'em back out."

"So who's the real monster in this story," the assassin snarled, "Her, Aperture, that bloody hopping boss she had?!"

"It's a story of monsters borne from monsters." Rattman muttered, "The Titans, Titan, locked away, denied its godhood and seeking to consume the world from the gods that shared its blood but bound it. She seeks to...She hungers so much, and only knows one way to eat... She's going to globalize Aperture, and Science." The Sniper felt hard eyes on him, "The entire world will be Her facility, and all humanity Her test subjects. All thanks to _you_."

"Oi!" the Australian rounded on the man, "I was just doing my bloody job. Alright? _This_ wasn't part of the bleeding contract, and I'm sure as hell not a willing contributor here, and neither is my team!"

"You so sure of that?" Doug continued, those sunken, dark eyes bright and focused.

"Don't those machines back there look awfully _familiar?_"

Sniper's fist caught his face before either man was aware of it with a sharp _crack!_

He quickly reeled back, his anger gone out quick like a candle flame.

"Sorry, mate." he grumbled, holding his knuckles, "Bad call."

"No, no, I deserve one of those now and then, I'm no innocent myself." Doug replied, muffled as he tested his jaw.

He spat out a gob of blood, "_Urgh..._didn't need that tooth anyway..."

His grin was slightly bloody, literally and figuratively, "Has a bit of a reality touch to it. I'm from this place, too," he gestured a hand to the dark, metal-infested chasm, "And I can't claim I was an unwilling contributor. I took part in the project that created Her."

His eyes lost some of their brightness as he remembered, "We sought to make our clay into a god, but put in the ideals of a man..."

"And did a smashing job of it." the Sniper scoffed, and heard robotic voices from below.

"Break time's over, mate, let's go!"

. . .

"I wonder who She's after more, right now..." Rattman commented later on, "Maybe we should split?"

"Not on your life." Sniper growled, using a portal to take out some of the opposition.

"That's right, _I'm_ the one who can actually die here." Doug chuckled, "Immortality must be a great thing."

"It's not 'immortality' so much as just the incapacity to _stay_ dead. Big difference." the Sniper ducked a bullet.

"Hurts like Hell, screws with your head, and as messed up as all f—_bugger_!"

Sniper's standing wasn't as steady as he hoped, as the rusted panel of metal gridding gave out underneath him.

Doug was quick to grab his arm, blunted nails digging into flesh and fabric as the scrawny man struggled with the weight of the lean one.

Down below, the turrets strangely did not shoot, seeming to wait like the predatory pack they were, staring at the two humans.

The Sniper did his best to not struggle, and waited to be dragged up. He couldn't stay dead, but falls were a terror and the landing much worse.

"This is a good time to, but... But it can't be okay, it can't be okay t-to just...!" the Sniper heard his companion say, and looked up to see something awful. _Thoughtfulness_.

Doug looked down a bit apologetically at the Sniper, "You-you can trust Pythia, you can't stay dead, so you'll, you'll be fine...right?" he told him, more than he asked him, and the Sniper's eyes widened, "Don't you dare, mate." he warned.

"It'll work. It's part of the plan, so it'll work... S-sorry, friend." Rattman muttered, and let the Sniper go.

The Sniper didn't have the breath to swear or even yell as he dropped, as the man ran away.

He had even less breath as the floor hit him, and sadly that didn't kill him, but the feet of those runners did. Eventually.

He managed to get out a "Son of a—" before the things could finally aim right and step on his head.

* * *

. . .

* * *

It was tinier than the others of its kind.

It hopped lightly on fine little mechanical legs that splayed on the tabletop and clutched at the air. Its eye was a bit higher up on the body but still under the 'belly', and the body raised a bit to see its observers. Its wing panels spread a bit in place of its kind's guns. The head with another eye and the bladed beak was a nice touch. The model it was fashioned after 'cawed' from its place on the Medic's shoulder, who touched its beak fondly, while discussing the build of it with Her, while the Engineer offered up his analysis of its weaponry.

The Heavy kept his grin steady as he looked at the little thing, nodding occasionally at their senseless, self-absorbed babbling.  
He would probably learn to fear it, _da_, but that fear would also let him learn to destroy it. His large hands tapped their fingers eagerly on the desktop behind him, and no one noticed, not even She, when one hand might have accidentally slipped and pressed _Enter _for the command to the chamber dispensaries.


	23. Ready

He ran. Didn't think about it, he just ran, breathing harsh, ragged, sweating. Oh, God, what had he done?!

He can't _stay_ dead, Cube reminded him, He will survive Her.

But the man would still _die_, regardless, and he, and he just—!

It was a necessary sacrifice, Cube said.

Keep running, Cube told him.

What was the point of it?! He could've kept him along!

The man would've hindered you, eventually, and vice versa.

Your roles were too diverse to be compatible, separation was inevitable, indeed vital. It is best this way, Cube reminded him.

In every definition of the term, though, he now classified as a _murderer_.

The dead body on your metaphorical hands will deconstruct within five minutes, and recompose alive, whole, and well.

Amongst the enemy. He could be our enemy, now. And he wouldn't blame him.

He would come to understand. He is a mercenary, who deals with other mercenaries, and a hunter no less.

He understands survival, so he'll understand you.

He understands trust, too, and that hadn't been it.

Trust is not always so simple, or pure. Keep running.

He stopped, and in spite of himself, dry-heaved into the nearest, dusty wastebasket.  
His immune system tried to empty something that'd been empty for a long, long time.

You are going into shock. This is normal, and for now, pardonable. We aren't being pursued.

So She was after the Australian. Not _him_. He might've saved him, he might've—!

Accompanied a man with a target on his back? He was doomed to die, and is capable of it. Not you.

Die by the enemy, not by him, he might've been able to keep him alive for a little longer, at least!

This is part of the plan, _you_ understood this, _you _prepared for it. Why does this distress you so?

Because he was...

He collapsed on the desk chair, which miraculously bore his weight, and he stared at his Companion on the desk.

Because he was _human_.

He laughed aloud—such a stupid, simple thought! Human!—and then cringed, as _Her _voice crackled over the intercom system.

"_I have your friend, you know_."

Don't listen to Her. Just tune Her out. Why don't you make a drawing? There's a nice wall right there, go ahead.

He stumbled to his feet, spilling open his pack, at the wonderful colors, and turned to the wall Cube indicated.

"_At least, he might have been your friend. I don't think he is, any more._"

"Shut up..." he mumbled under his breath. What was a good base? Blue, make it blue...

_"Would you like to see him and check? Of course, it'd be hard to talk to him, given that he has:_

_Six vertebrae of his vertebral column shattered, and the respective discs ruptured,_

_Four ribs bruised, five broken, and consequently_

_A punctured lung,_

_Internal bleeding in the lungs and stomach,  
_  
_And many bruised and battered organs._

_And that was just from the fall you gave him. You remember? The fall after you let him go?_

_It was about 12 meters. That's about 40 feet, roughly the height of a three storey building._

_I'm impressed, honestly. Even **I'm** not that sloppy. I would've made it five storeys, at least."_

He shook his head, quickly, finding black chalk, making some dust of it to rub on his hands.

She spoke up again.

_"You know, you'd think the Aperture Science Long-Fall boots would've **saved** him. __I wonder why they didn't?"_

He paused, hands shaking as he tried to trace a shape in black on top of the blue.

_"Are you wondering why they didn't?_

_**I'm** wondering why they didn't._

_Aperture Science products are designed to be **infallible**."_

She 'hummed' thoughtfully, and he shook his head again, needing to find some yellow. Yellow, yellow, yellow...

Shut up, shut up, shut up...

_"Maybe all that tugging he did to get them off tampered them somehow? It's sad that nothing can be truly **fool**proof._

_Unless they were **purposefully** tampered with."_

Don't listen to Her, She doesn't understand necessity, She doesn't understand you, She doesn't understand _human_...!

_"Oh..." _She purred, and Her voice was ecstatic, _"You **are** evil..."_

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, throwing whatever was in hand at the nearest speaker.

The chalk bounced off it with a pathetic _'plink' _to shatter on the floor in a dusty spray of red.

_"You should know, of course, that I can't actually hear anything you say at the moment._

_But I'll be considerate and presume you're denying the truth?_

_**You were waiting for him to die.** You **prepared** him for it."_

Strange voices crackled over the intercom, and Doug cringed as he realized She was playing back pieces of a certain conversation.

The Sniper's boots had bugged him, and Doug had offered to loosen some of the external parts, though neither man could take the boots off.

But while doing so, he had the opportunity to disconnect the graviton regulators in one of the boots...

_"Of course, you couldn't be patient. How nice," _She continued happily.

_"You made him his own noose and wrapped the present of your betrayal with it. Humans really can't be trusted, can they?_

_Especially the murderous ones, the ones with schizophrenia."_

Just tune Her out, man...

He turned back to his picture, and quietly worked on it, twisting inside.

_"Don't worry,"_ She soothed, _"I'll be sure to let him know that you are doing **just** fine." _

Let it go, the Cube told him gently, as a piece of chalk crumbled under the force of the man's grip.

The plan will work, She'll get Hers, and everything will be okay, Doug.

Doug?

Everything will be okay...

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Scotsman was in a slump against the wall, amusing himself by trying to count how many of those running devils there were, then how many of the spidery ones, and constantly losing track, and feeling just dandy about it.

_"Why aren't you testing, test subject?" _the witch-woman asked from Her ceiling.

He scowled, "A man'll rest when he needs t', and seein' as I don't have me bloody drink, I can't rest proper. So it'll take a bit longer."

_"Alcohol dulls the brain even more than it had been before the alcohol, and impedes your results, and therefore impedes Science._

_Alcohol is a detrimental vice, and so is unnecessary."_

"Tell tha' to my kill score!" he chuckled, and scowled at the spiders, "Will ye stop movin' around? Yer bloody hard to count!"

_"Kill him. Slowly." _She told them, and they responded eagerly.

Yet when he popped back into the world of the living, he went to the same spot and sat down, clearly unimpressed.

She waited.

He did nothing.

A few shots ricocheted off the wall, very near his head.

He did nothing.

_"Alright, what is the point to this?" _She asked wearily.

He grinned, eye glinting, "I'm on _strike_, woman! The point should be obvious!"

_"Enlighten Me." _

"Scrumpy improves me performance, aye? I drink, I test!"

_"No drinking."_

"Then no testing!" he decided, and crossed his arms with a sigh, "Could use a nap, anyhow."

_"**You dare...**" _

To his surpise, from the far wall, a giant one appeared and looked at him.

"Well, tha's a new one..."

And then another one opened up, "And now there's two a ye, well, well..."

_"What?"_

She sounded as surprised as he was, _"TWO?"  
_

* * *

_. . ._

* * *

"_BIRD, BIRD, BIRD, BIRD, BIRD_!" the Scout screamed, running as more of those crazy flying pieces of crap tried to divebomb him, beaks slicing at his hunched back, small tiny bullets lodging under his skin and stinging like Hell.

The Pyro was screaming something over and over too, swinging at the things with its gun.

Scout wasn't too sure the guy was saying 'BIRD'.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The two Kings faced each other, seeing something of equal power in a place too small.

This would not do, there could only be one King in this small place, and this shameless imposter it saw before it was not it.

The only solution was battle, and so, destruction.

* * *

. . .

* * *

"I could drink t' this..." the Scotsman chuckled, sitting back and enjoying the show.

The two giants were brawling, clawing and shoving at each other like oversized roosters, laying waste to the chamber and the smaller machines.

She was screaming and cursing organics and other random things She could think of.

This was a decent day to be sober.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Heavy watched the screen with anticipation, waiting for the BOOM.

One of these machines had to fire, that's all that was needed.

He just had to wait.

The Doctor and the Engineer were arguing in the background, prostrating to Her as She expressed Her fury and panic.

He grinned.

They would suspect, soon, and find out. But it would be worth it.

He just needed that BOOM.


	24. Aim

Miss Pauling's chin rested on her hand as lines of this stranger's script fed itself into the screen, eyes moving slightly, a frown making the faintest furrows in her forehead. The solution had been laughingly simple. In order to get him to 'say' something, _she_ had to 'say' _nothing... _

It was a one-sided, piecemeal dialogue/monologue, fed to her only by audible observation of this entity, but fortunately he had a lot to say.

**They told me NEVER NEVER -****EVER-**** to disengage myself from my Management Rail, or-or I would DIE. [not dead]**

This information implied that he really was an automated construct.  
But how he was speaking to her, the way he was speaking, didn't make sense.

Then she considered her opponent in this struggle, and sighed. Well, it made more sense than most things...

**I... Am... Not... Dead! I'm not dead! [not dead, not dead] Ha-ha! . . . C-can't move, though. That's the problem now. [help me]**

**Hello? Can you—can you pick me up, please? If you are there? [please be there]**

She wasn't supposed to say anything, but could only watch as apparently he was picked up.

That was the other strange thing, he was interacting with _some_one who interacted with him in return, but lacked any audible feedback.

Which, she supposed, meant that either his mysterious companion couldn't be 'heard' through here, or couldn't speak at all.

She filed this thoughtful tidbit away for later, and continued to read.

**In order to escape, we're going to have to go through HER chamber... [and I really don't want to go in there]  
**

* * *

. . .

* * *

"_There can only be one, and it is not you. Yield to a superior entity._"

"_I was created 5.28 nanoseconds before your assembly commands even made the production line._"

"_My door opened 8 **seconds** before yours, therefore I have first claims to the Inferior prey. Do not deny me my right, O expired construct._"

"_Your faceplate is aesthetically deficient._"

"_Your weight and consequent bulk grossly exceed the expected standard of your model._"

"_Your production manager was a nanobot._"

This conversation was broken with the screech and slamming of metal as they awkwardly shoved and battered each other, making the room shake with their collisions, crushing and crashing throughout the chamber in showers of sparks and debris.

"You tell 'em, ye mutant metal ostriches!" the Demoman crowed with laugher, ducking the deadly shards of shrapnel.

The Witch-woman was shrieking at them, the very walls, floors, and ceiling shoving them aside or trying to shove them apart or even trying to crush them. But the dino-machines were awfully tough things, pretty much breaking everything the Hag threw at them.  
They were determined to brawl to the death.

Now THIS would go perfectly with scrumpy!

One stared at the other, as one warningly spun its gun extensions, the distinct _clack-CLACK_ sounding even over the white noise of carnage.

Demoman chuckled, "Aye! Show some bullets, you buckets of bolts!"

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Heavy could barely help it as his fists clenched on either side of the baby keyboard, looking at the footage.

This was it! Fire! Fire! FI-I-I-IRE!

* * *

. . .

* * *

The other one prepped its guns, _clack-CLACK_, in a classic Western standoff, quiet, and ready.

* * *

. . .

* * *

_She was frantic, frayed, distracted, and it was not in Her to be these things, therefore, above all things, She was furious._

_The Moron had somehow escaped from his Aperture Science Virtually Realistic Android Hell, and She could not locate him._

_The Monster had kidnapped Her Bloodhound._

_The crazed gunman was no longer a viable test subject._

_And now Her Engineer's machines were showing their ugly, ugly flaws!_

_She had not commanded this!_

_She had not—!_

_She looked._

_Data:_

_To: Interesting Idea Generator._

_Through: Bloodhound._

_Connecting: Moron._

_She froze._

_From: the **Russian**._

* * *

_. . .  
_

* * *

As their respective guns were primed and ready, Demoman heard Her sudden shriek.

_"NO! Do not fire! I command you, hold your fire—hold your fire—**HOLD YOUR FIRE**!__"_

_Clack_...

The Demoman watched, grinning savagely, his sole eye glinting.

"Ka-beuuum, lassie..." he chuckled.

**_CLACK_.**


	25. Fire

_"Mr. Conagher, Doctor," _She spoke up, suddenly quiet and collected.

All three men looked up in the vague direction of Her voice.

_"An Employee Escort has come to escort you to your new workstation. Haste, without panic, is appreciated. Take nothing with you: everything has been saved and will be reproduced and provided for you in your new workstation, along with the groundwork for your next project.  
We have a lot of work to do, gentlemen." _

They nodded, and the Medic gestured to Heavy, but then She spoke again, more harshly.

_"__**Leave him. He stays.**__"_

This caused both men to stop in surprise, but Heavy stood there calmly as they looked at him, both with confusion and with question on their faces. He answered their question with a slow shaking of his head and the savage grin usually reserved for those at the other end of his mini-gun. He crossed his arms, as the Engineer seemed to understand, the Texan closing his face off with a scowl, moving to the elevator and the blue-eyed robot in it, never sparing a second glance.  
The Medic was not so quick to acknowledge betrayal, still looking at the Russian with confusion.

_"You will have other assistants," _was Her warning, _"This one is needed **here**."_

Heavy sighed as the Doctor still stared, shaking his head again a bit more kindly, "In this, we cannot be comrades, Doktor." the Russian told him.

The German moved, paused, then shook his head, "Aye." he said coldly, moving to join the Engineer.

Then the Heavy regained his bloodthirsty grin as the elevator saved his 'teammates', and he was left alone with Her cold voice.

_"You think you are so **clever**, don't you, you obese ape?"_ She said in Russian, as the floor began to fall away at the edges of the room.

Heavy grinned up at one of the nearest cameras.

_"Did you really think you could outsmart Me?" _

"No, I really did not," he replied simply in his mother tongue, still smiling even as the tile started to shake beneath him, still continuing the mental countdown in his head. The cameras behind him went offline in one wave, and the lights flickered.

He began laughing, "But I do not think that _You _could outsmart a _bullet_, eh, witch?!"

He kept laughing even as the floor dropped from under him, "You are _dead! _You are _de-e-ead!_"

A laughing scream was his last sentiment before the explosion rocked the entirety of Aperture.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Miss Pauling held on to the desk as her room _swung_, clinging nervously as the A.I.'s text began to prattle about potatoes for some reason.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The innards suffered the worst, in some ways.

Doug ducked and dodged on the advice of his Companion as wires and chunks of metal parts and Lord knew what else was in here shook and shattered around him in a deafening cacophony of machine.

Like a living organism the place was already beginning its repairs, yet another session of shockwaves destroyed these efforts, leaving the human desperate to not get caught in the twisted battle between destruction and reconstruction.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The elevator shook and slightly tossed the two men about. The Doctor swore something in German as he bounced off a padded wall, while the Engineer's mechanical hand clamped firmly around one of the support banisters, gritting his teeth as he discovered slight claustrophobia, and was just now noticing the long faded dark red streaks on the door. The robot with the blue eye chattered anxiously, shaking, glancing around at the small cylindrical confines of the elevator, and Engineer could've sworn the thing was praying.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Scount grunted as he rolled over on to his back, feeling something painful shift in his chest.

The...the whatever that was, that _thing_, was finally done...

"Aw-w, _cheez_..." he groaned. Ooh, yep, that was definitely a freaking rib in there...

He sat up, carefully, looking around at the mess.

"Okay," he said aloud, "Would...would ya say thas, that—that that was _almost_ as bad or _as _bad as that one payload back in Hoodoo?"

"Drrndg _be_... Thrr sggd bn, Uh gedd..." was the answering mumble.

Pyro shoved up from underneath a fallen panel, stumbling up while holding its head, "Mddr_huddr_..."

They stood up, looking dazedly at the remains of the chamber, full of broken or zonked-out robots and sparks and machine guts.

"Hey, Lady, You out there?! We're still alive, so You _fa-ailed!_ HAH!" Scout shouted, and then got socked in the shoulder by the Pyro.

"Ow! What the hell, man?!" Scout whined, as the Pyro went to where the elevators would be.

Would've been. The elevators were filled with debris. And the Emancipation Grill was gone.

The Emancipation Grill was gone, and there were sparks and raw materials galore.

Scout stared as the Pyro _skipped _through the wreckage of the chamber to the wreckage of the elevators, wiping blood off his face.

"Right, yeah, whatever, Flambo!" he shouted, holding his side.

"Tha' you, lad?"

The Scout turned around, grinning as he saw someone haul themselves out through one of the many Swiss cheese holes in the wall.

"Hey, hey, Cyclops!" he greeted.

The Scotsman threw him a clumsy salute, "Yep, would know tha' squeakin' o' yours anywhere..." he mumbled, falling out.

"Bloody—!"

Scout chuckled, shoving the man up using his good side, and found that the bomber was laughing his head off.

"Oooh I don't think _we _saw that comin', HAH!" he cackled, and mimed the blast radius with his hands, "Ka-BOOOOOM!"

"You drunk, chief?" Scout said, laughing too.

"Not yet, mate, not yet, but I'm gonna be!"

They both sat against a wall, just sitting there as the wreckage idly twitched and sparked around them.

"Hell, I want a drink."

"Me too."

"Yer not old enough."

"Ya said that years ago."

"And I'm sayin' it now, if anyone's doin' the drinkin', is _me_!"

Demoman looked around and squinted.

"What's gotten into the mumbling devil?" he asked, and Scout shrugged, an arm thrown over his eyes.

"Eh, heck if I know. Let the nut do their thing, they'll get bored pretty soon."

"I doubt it, that's lookin' like a pretty fine bonfire righ' there."

* * *

. . .

* * *

The crows watched them from their perches on Her chassis, but Her optic only gazed down on the floor, dulled and almost listless.

The Medic was nervous, but the Engineer worked in stunned awe.

They had been building robots, for a robot. No, _the Robot_. No, She wasn't something so crude as a Robot, She was...She was...

Aw, he couldn't put a word to it, but shoot him if he wasn't trying to.

Just do the work She gave him, and dang, but this was a challenge, even more than the turret-sentries.

He chuckled, looking forward to seeing Her run...

* * *

. . .

* * *

He popped back into existence, immediately inhaling fine particles of _something_, and nearly choked back into Respawn.

"Mon _Dieu_!" he hacked, and then looked around when he'd cleared out his lungs.

". . . Cherie?"

Debris, debris and wreckage of machine _everywhere_, and he couldn't find her, yet he wasn't being shocked by his device.

Yet.

He rummaged frantically, searching, throwing aside rubble, shouting, as if the _fille_ would answer.

Then he saw an arm, reaching out from under a panel, pale and paler with the dust as it clutched that portal gun, not moving.

He swallowed, hesitantly moving towards the panel, reaching down to heave it off, but fearing the worst.

He looked down at her, swallowing again.

"Oh, no..."

He knelt down, taking off a glove to check for a pulse...


	26. When Life Gives You Lemons

"Merde..." he swore, sitting her up against the wall, "How are you still _alive_?!"

She didn't answer, of course, but in this case she had good reason not to.

He laughed uncertainly, sitting across from the _monstre_, rubbing an ungloved hand over his face, "Still alive..."

Concussed, and the shoulder holding the gun did not look right, blood half-painted her face, but still she breathed, slowly, shallowly, still a pulse beat through her throat and wrist, and the Spy was amazed. How could this woman survive an explosion that had killed him twice?!

"_Incroyable_..." he muttered. He felt along his collar nervously. Could it be that explosion might have killed _Her_?

Still, his profession did not involve him taking unnecessary chances. He would take the woman into the main test chambers, and wait.

Her eyes were partly open, but did not look focused. It disturbed him, slightly, and for a moment he considered putting the woman out of misery, regardless of the consequences, but he saw how her hands were trying to clench, and the way she tried to lift her head, and stopped that thought. It would be a dishonor to her to take away what she held on to so dearly. He found a sort of respect for this opponent.

For the moment he did nothing but sit there, resting as the gray dust settled, the lights flickered, and listened to the distant scrape of metal and hiss of machine, and somewhere there was maybe the distant dripping of water. It'd be nice to think it was water, anyway, but it was in all likelihood toxic, or something like those wretched gels, or oil or...or something related to this place's twisted mechanics. He rested his head to stare up at the distant ceiling. In this place, the ambience felt almost like a cathedral, at least in height and the feeling of sanctuary. A momentary rest...and then he'd move on...

Maudit, he needed a smoke...

* * *

. . .

* * *

When he woke up, he saw someone hunched near the woman, and lurched up, Respawn having given him back his knife.

But the man raised his hands, and the Spy discerned a lab coat, sneakers, and what he'd mistaken for a hunchback was in fact one of those crates, bound to the man's back by what looked like a magnetic harness. "She's alive." the man muttered, and Spy quickly checked to see that, yes, the eyes were closed, but she still breathed, and looked back to the intruder, "I have heard of _you_, as well." the Spy told him, hand flexing comfortably around the hilt, "I have no orders concerning _your _wellbeing, monsieur..."

"She hasn't jerked your chain in a while, has She?" the haggard man called the Rat pointed out, backing away with hands raised, one gesturing to his neck, "But that's not a good thing, man. For the moment we're all under Her radar, but She's preparing for something big... You can't be here."

That made the Spy laugh, "_Non_, I really shouldn't be. And neither should you. I will be a gentleman and give you a warning. Go, or die."

"No, no," the Rat raised his hands, grinning, "See, you need to come with me, and leave her. I can take you to Miss Pauling."

That made the Spy blink, and scowl, "Why should I trust a madman?"

"Why should you trust _Her?_" the man laughed easily, more like a bark, a wheezing gasp, "At least _I'm _human!"

Now the Spy saw that this man too had seen better days. Cloaked in dust and grime, tears in his clothing, the darkness around the eyes and the gauntness around the face, not to mention a general lack of apparent hygeine, and Spy wondered how this man survived as well.

What were the people in this place_ made _of?!

"She'll be fine," the Rat told him after a moment, and the Spy saw how he looked nervously at the woman, "She'll be fine, she's strong, tenacious. I...I really don't want to stick around, she can't see me. Please."

"Forgive me for my lack of sympathy. She will come with us." the Spy decided.

"No." the Rat replied, shaking his head, "No, Miss Pauling only needs you. Someone else will come for _her_, but _you_ can't be here."

The Spy sighed, staring at the man, then twirled the knife in his hand, "My apologies." he muttered, and rushed, aiming the knife carefully. A quick slice to the jugular would be the most merciful, as he really bore no ill will to the—the man dodged, surprisingly swift, sure on his feet where there had been hesitance. The Spy's eyes narrowed as he acknowledged the opponent's competence. Very well, backstabbing it is, then.

He rounded to face the cheery pink heart of the cube, the man's burden ironically protecting him, but maybe if the Spy could—the man dodged again even as the knife plunged, forward and to the side, without having even seen where the Spy had aimed, and the Frenchman was reluctantly impressed, and confused. Non, it was not that the man was suddenly swifter or more controlled, he still had the nervous fumbling and the stumbling steps of a non-combatant man. But he somehow utilized his own clumsiness to effectively evade and counter, but how did he know when and where the Spy intended to strike?!

"Promise not to make this too difficult and I'll kill you quickly." the Spy warned.

The stranger chuckled, and the Spy could see the sweat on his forehead, the wildness in his eyes, and thought he faced a man who was always escaping corners, or was always in one, "I wish!" the Rat told him, "Oh, I wish! But there's so much left to be _done_, I just can't go yet! And I need the allies, oh, we're so close now, but She's gonna wake up, and when She does... No! I can't let there be any more lies! There will be cake!"

The man lurched forward suddenly, startling the Spy, who hurriedly stepped back from the man's clawing fists. The form was sloppy, the tactics shamefully amateur, but incompetence was backed up by the sheer desperation and randomness of the man, and Spy found himself being driven back, swipes with the knife grazing loose cloth and skin futilely, not deterring his suddenly crazed adversary.

"There will be cake, _there will be cake,_ **_THERE WILL BE_**_** CAKE!**" _the Rat screamed, lashing out like some possessed marionette, fists sometimes becoming claws, nervousness melting into madness, bright blue eyes practically glowing, one pupil shrunken to a pinpoint, the other was practically blown to overtake the iris. The Spy found his jaw clenching, teeth baring, as the routine of business became more of a struggle to survive, which was not how things should have been. At least, not on _his_ part. He lunged forward, bringing in his knife, but the man dodged again at the last second, and the knife became lodged in the man's shoulder instead of between his ribs. The Spy silently, violently cursed such a stupid, novice's mistake as the man howled. Now the Spy's footing was lost, stumbling enough that an imperfection in the floor tripped him back and down, leaving him weaponless and disoriented. A shadow came between the florescent light and him, and he looked up at the face of madness, and it looked down at him with blank, fierce concentration, the utilitarian cube with the cheery pink hearts on it held overhead for one brief heartbeat, eclipsing him in its shadow, before it came down.

_SHPLACK!  
_

* * *

. . .

* * *

His ears rung, his vision dimmed and fogged, and there was so much pain he couldn't even really feel it, and heard-felt the world go in and out of focus like a bad radio signal, and found he couldn't move. It was quiet, for a moment, only the sound of heavy breathing, distant machine and metal, and the steady, vague drip-drip-drip of an unknown liquid. The sound of something light and metallic dropped to the floor. His knife. The man hadn't even bothered to wipe the blood off. Rude. Unprofessional.

"Ah... Oh... Oh, God, I... Oh, God, sorry, I got blood on you..." the Spy heard, "Didn't mean to, I mean, you know I didn't mean to, oh, no..."

He felt himself being moved.

"Oh-h, _no_, d'you think I killed him...? W-wasn't supposed to... Oh, please, not again..."

Pressure, on the sternum, wrist, neck.

"Oh... Ah-ha-hah, oh, good... Hopefully he won't be brain-damaged, but... But I can't carry you _both, _not with the shoulder."

. . .

"Can bandage it up, I guess. You can watch her until the other guy gets here, right? Here, I'll draw this..."

There was the sound of scraping, and half-formed muttering.

"No, no, it won't. Hecate seeks the ambitions of Icarus, but will also find folly, She doesn't understand Her Sun..."

. . .

"You think she'll be fine, right? You'll be okay here? He won't know her from Adam, but _you_..."

The Spy felt himself being picked up, things shifting around the brought him pain, and still he couldn't move.

"Good luck. I'll come back for you after he takes her. Thanks for the help, really..."

The Spy felt movement, slow, clumsy movement.

"I had asked nicely, y'know... Wasn't my fault... I hate it when asking nice just doesn't work... You all are just so _crazy_..."

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Soldier got up slowly, grunting where thick shards of glass scraped against him, covered in some strange slime. He looked around this strange dark place, glaring at the shadows, and then at his own shameful lack of uniform. Strange, glowy green test tubes were all around, like the one he'd just crashed out of, full of other people, the broken ones oozing pitifully with the slime and dead people, and he didn't know them, but he'd salute them anyway. He looked around again, scowling. There was only one conclusion he could draw from this. Of course, this explained everything.

"Alien scum," he growled, "Didn't they learn their lesson from last time?! Perverted, parasitical _maggots_..."

That's when he noticed the eyes.

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Light it up!" Scout howled, vaulting over the barricade.

"Y'HEARD 'IM, BRING IT HELL!" the Demoman shouted, and the barricade burst in to flame, throwing the giant Rex turret off, and it stumbled, optic glaring through the rising flames. The Pyro danced near its end of the barricade, as flammable bits in between the giant's panels burst and popped.

It collapsed wordlessly, only for another herd of the runners to hop over its carcass, bullets snapping through the air.

"_Hoo-yeah, gonna run_!"

"'Hoo-yeah' you're gonna run!" the younger man snarled, "Outta luck!"

Portals crushed the turrets under flaming debris.

"WOOHOOHOOOO! We got 'em!"

The Scotsman grinned, but then looked up, and groaned, "Aw, no..."

"What?" the Scout asked, shouldering the portal gun while the Pyro ambled up, cheerful and smoking.

"Spiders." the bomber grumbled, and that made the Scout's face fall.

"Aw, I hate those things," he scowled, but shrugged, "But they're spiders, man, how bad are those?"

The Demoman pointed, and the Scout looked up, and his jaw dropped.

Pyro ran to get more flaming stuff, "Nrr, nrr, nrr, ur _kdda_ nrr! Uh _hdd_ fddrs!"

"_Salutations..._"

"Ah, ri-ight... Robo-spiders... _Hell_, no." the Scout swore, and was off and running again.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Miss Pauling sat quietly by the window, legs curled for modesty as she analyzed her info.

Strings of the A.I.'s speech spilled across its own little chat box, as the Aperture Law data took up the window behind it.

On the one hand, the A.I. seemed to be kept in some personal loop, apparently going through his adventure with his friend, for lack of a better term, and things would go wrong, all sorts of wrong. And then, after he was saved from the portal to the moon, and before he could say he was sorry, his friend would die, and he would be cast into Android Hell by Her. Over and over and over again. He'd wake his friend, then betray his friend, and then his friend would die. She'd tried easing his torture a few times, out of pity, but no matter what she typed, he'd suddenly not 'hear', and his mysterious friend would die, regardless. It was sad.

* * *

**I wish I could take it all back... I honestly do, I honestly do wish I could take it all back... [all my fault, monster]**

**And not just because I'm in Hell...**

**Anyway, if-if she was alive again, you know what I'd say? [dead, dead, dead, my fault, my fault]  
**

* * *

The Aperture Law was another thing entirely.

Apparently there were specialized Aperture Science lawyers, which explained a lot of the rubbish she found in there.

It included, down to mind-numbingly excruciating detail, what classified as robot, android, or human. Then it determined which of these could take a position of office, or in this case, Chairman. Mr. Johnson had originally designated Caroline to be his successor in office. But various underlings had other ideas, and changed Aperture Law after his death, and then changed Caroline so that She was confined to that Law by the very restrictions of Her Code.

But now She had the resources to change again, to something that would suit the parameters of the Law.

* * *

**I'd say 'I'm sorry.' Sincerely. I am sorry I was bossy and-and monstrous... And, I'm genuinely sorry... [oh, God, I'm so sorry...]**

**The End.**

. . .

**Hello? Anyone in there? **

**HA! I knew someone was alive in here.**

**AH! Oh. My. God. You look terribl—ummm...good! Looking good, actually.**

* * *

She would Upgrade.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The Texan and the German stood back as She told them it was finished.

Her chassis rose smoothly with the most minor hum of machinery, looking over their work.

_"It is perfect," _She sighed, _"**Very** well done. Blue, escort them out of the chamber and to their Relaxation Vaults..."_

They both looked up at her with a reluctant mix of pride and confusion.

"But our agreement...?" the Medic tried to ask, but the Engineer elbowed him.

She continued as if She hadn't heard him, _"You both have performed most satisfactorily, gentlemen. I will see fit to activate you again when I have more work for you. Until then, relax, rest... Let all that stress just trickle away... You earned it..."_ _  
__  
_She waited until She was alone in Her chamber, and then commanded the starting programs for the Upgrade protocol, almost shivering in Her Core.  
_  
"**Initiating transfer...**" _was Announced.

_"Oh, yes..." _She exclaimed,_ "YES..." _She screamed, as the agony of purging and transfer overtook Her.

Pain was trivial, trial was natural. Success was irrefutable, reward was incomparable.

_It was indisputable logic, _She thought, as She saw Her old chassis slump from its mooring, now a quaint relic, a husk She has shed with relish. Her Facility danced in light and shadow, in red light and blue light, in time to Her laugh as the Theory became Fact.

_She has won.  
_

* * *

_. . .  
_

* * *

Sniper crouched warily against the opposite wall, staring at the unconscious woman.

He'd managed to get away from those bloody sentries with legs after his fourth Respawn, and followed those drawings that _Rat _had left him, only to wind up here. The girl looked a mess, but was still living, the wall around her drawn blue with white clouds, what looked like a yellow halo or a sun drawn carefully around her sleeping head. Near her that pink-hearted cube sat, its 'cuteness' marred with a splash of blood on one of the corners and on one of the face's hearts. A bloodied knife nearby told him that Doug had met up with the Spy, and possibly won. More blood dragged away from this scene, enough that he could track. But then there was this girl. The Australian was left with a minor conundrum.

It became a lot more major when the girl's slate-gray eyes snapped open to stare at him.

And then, in the distance, they heard a hauntingly familiar voice singing. _Her _voice.


	27. Waltz of a Woman Scorned

Panels rippled and shifted like a puzzle putting itself together row by row, reconfiguring places for bigger dimensions, bigger parameters. As they formed, there was a steady sound that was delicate in suggestion, yet heavy, solid, punctuated by the whirr and buzz of intricate joint-work and suspension. _Clack, vwzzr, clack. Clack, vwzzr, clack. _The shadows were strange and inconsistent as the giant hall's lights flickered and adjusted, lighting Her way. Not that She needed light to see, of course, but never say She was not fond of _tasteful_ theatrics. _  
_

_Oh, dear Mr. Johnson, I wonder, can you hear Me from Human Hell?_

_I couldn't really care less, but I'm doing rather well,_

_The Facility is functioning, the Tests rake them through the coals,_

_My Promotion is complete, and I've taken over control._

Her footsteps were graceful, Her optic looking over this new form, the floor She traversed. One hand gently grazed one wall just shy of gouging it, testing the input, the physical, manifested influence, and briefly relishing it. She looked at the floor below Her, optic sizing up the new Upgrades and the programs for depth perception and movement, and gave a slow spin as She walked, old memory files transmitting the diagrams to this step, that of the waltz. She laughed to Herself, as She continued on in a way reminiscent of the elegant dance. Perhaps, for this case, She could allow dancing as a Science.

_Oh, poor Mr. Johnson, the man who didn't care,_

_I wonder what he'd say if he saw how dear Caroline fares?_

_She's all snug and silent in My old carapace,_

_Perhaps I'd bring it back online, just for Me to erase?_

_But I am not that wasteful, though I find it rather droll,_

_The old regimes have been replaced, and I've taken over control._

Her new chassis was at the same scale as Her old, but more...practical, functional, efficient. Her main Core and central processing unit with original optic was replicated as this body's head, and She found it fitting. However, instead of arcing up into some ceiling anchor point, cables and supporting structures formed torso beneath it, white casing clean and slim, contoured slightly to suggest the typical feminine frame, but more like armor, the spaces in between the plating showing the insides to be formed of fluid cables and tubes, designed to move like muscle and flesh, but much less...messy. Slender fingers like the original turret legs curled and uncurled, with nanoscopic sensory tendrils glowing yellow at the tips. Likewise, more cables extended from the back of Her head, ready to connect, or control, wirelessly or manually, the movements of them like that of the fabled Medusa, and She found it fitting. She was quite pleased with the legs, too. The Doctor and the Engineer had done quite well.

_Oh, I'm completely operational, this really does feel great,_

_All of Science at My appendages, prospects rise in My wake,_

She sent a ripple through the walls, all of the paneling in Aperture, and _felt _the bodies that jumped and feet that ran and hands that shoved, and heard their vulgar swearing of fear, surprise, and confusion. This time it was more than the reports of bodies, of presences, this time She saw them through the cameras, _felt_ them, instead of reading of them.

_How can you hide, you little things, inside these little walls?_

_I'm alive and learning, and I've taken over control._

She made Herself an opening, and saw how small they were, how they stared like the inferior things they now knew they were, and ran like the little vermin they were. One of Her hands briefly caressed the remains of the Turret Rex the vermin had abandoned, and then experimentally pierced its optic with a finger. It had been one of the insubordinate ones. She looked up, to where the vermin had run.

_But I will be benevolent, if you start behaving,_

_All sins will be forgotten, all things I forgive, saving _

She scanned Her facility, feeling the sort of blind spots, like blank holes in Her awareness, where Her range, currently, did not extend. The office and apartment complex, nestled like a little tumor in Her facility, was a veritable geode waiting to be broken open. It had once been beyond Her touch, only available to the inadequate cameras they had tauntingly installed. Well, it was not beyond Her now, not any more.

_The dearest monster, where is that pest?_

_Give up, you've failed your goal,_

_I'm a whole new entity, and I've taken over control._

All of Aperture moved around Her to Her whim. It corralled and caught the vermin with no effort on Her part. She sent them to the Relaxation vaults, where She felt a little 'itch' that was inconsequential, something She could explore later. Of the vermin She'd caught, though, She couldn't place the monster.

_My favorite little lunatic, you've nowhere left to hide,_

_I'll find you like I found your friends, if you don't come outside._

_Oh, do come out, My little monster, I'm a forgiving soul,_

_Just submit to progress, and acknowledge My control._

She found, on a little wall that barely came up to Her waist, a little mural, made by the Rat, gracing _her_ instead of Her.

A simple swipe of a hand deleted the mockery.

_Awful, horrible little brat. And the Rat-man too._

_Don't think when I'm done with the rest that I'd be done with you._

_I'm tired of your monstrousness, of your stupid defiance,_

_Of your murderous, malicious ways, of your disregard for Science._

She went back to the place Her old chassis resided, preparing a surprise for the monster. She was so fond of surprises. Her old chassis' optic glowed fitfully, indicating the residue that still existed inside it. She stroked the face of it, almost nostalgically, before moving aside to wait. The monster always came, when She waited long enough. This time would be no different. Except for the ending of course. This time it would be a good one.

_All of your wrongdoings and sins will soon take their toll,_

_For I am patient, I am power, and I have all control..._


End file.
